The Slumbering Princess
by Elana
Summary: Difficult questions from Anakin and an old fairy tale lead Shmi to remember the joys and sorrows of her past, and the circumstances surrounding Anakin's conception and birth.
1. Chapter 1

**The Slumbering Princess**

**Chapter 1 **

"My father was a navigator on a spice freighter, and Mom says he promised that someday when he saves up enough money he's going to come back and buy us both and take us back to Corellia with him." The younger slave children gathered around Peyna murmured in awed envy, but the older ones snickered scornfully.

"Yeah, right." Seek threw a handful of sand at her, which she ducked with the quick reflex of one used to dodging blows. "Like that's ever going to happen."

"He will! He promised." But Peyna had been disappointed by far too many broken promises for her voice to hold much conviction. She turned to the boy sprawled beside her in the little clear area behind the slave hovels where the group of children had gathered in the precious few minutes of free time between the end of the work day and suns-set. "What about you, Anakin? Did your mother ever tell you who your father was?"

Anakin shrugged. "Oh, I didn't have a father."

Seek laughed. "Of course you did. What, does your mother not know who he was? Or which one?" He snickered, elbowing the boy next to him, who joined his taunting laughter.

Anakin abandoned the pile of sand he had been idly shaping into a pod race arena. "No, I never had one at all." He met the mocking stares of the older children, bewildered. "What's so weird about that? Lots of kids don't have fathers." He turned to his best friend for support. "You don't have a father, right Kitster?"

Kitster squirmed. "Well, not anymore. But… yeah, I used to."

Seek shook his head in disgust at the younger children's ignorance. "Everybody had to have a father. That's how babies get made in the first place."

Shella, a Twi'lek a year or two older than Seek, spoke up. "Not Amebans. They don't even have babies; they just split in half."

"Well, okay, not them," Seek admitted. "But most species kids have to have a mother and a father. Twi'lek's do, right?" She nodded.

"What about Rodians, Wald?"

Wald wasn't a slave, but he often hung out with the slave children. "Yes, mother and father both." The children nodded sagely, and a bit enviously. He was one of the few of them that actually lived with both of his parents.

"See? Most species. And _definitely_ humans."

Anakin shook his head stubbornly. "Not me."

Seek peered at him. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Know what?" Anakin was starting to feel defensive, but at the same time inquisitive.

"About men, and women, and how babies get made…"

Anakin's expression remained blank, although his face was starting to burn with embarrassment that there was apparently some highly interesting and important bit of information he was ignorant of. At least a few of the other younger children also looked baffled.

"About _sex_, dummy!"

Sure his cheeks were flaming as bright as Sebulba's racing silks, Anakin shook his head. "No," he mumbled. But intense curiosity overpowered shame at his ignorance "Tell me."

Seek and the other older children tittered and drew into a closer huddle around Anakin. "You've seen men and women kissing, right?"

"Yes, of course, but what's that got to do-"

"Well, sometimes after they kiss, they do other stuff…" Seek, with many interruptions and additions from the other children, proceeded to give Anakin a thorough and – although crude and embellished – reasonably accurate account of the biological facts of reproduction.

Anakin listened, fascinated and disgusted by turns. When finally they fell silent, he ventured, "You're sure that's the only way…"

"Absolutely." Seek nodded emphatically. "Well, except for clones. You're not a clone, are you Ani?"

"I don't think so…"

Kitster spoke up. "He can't be a clone of his mother, or he'd be a girl. So even if he were a clone, he'd have to have a clone-father."

Anakin shook his head, bemused. He struggled to reorder his understanding of the universe around this new knowledge. "So my mother must have… done that. With someone."

"She might not have wanted to." They all turned to Peyna, who'd remained quiet for a while. "You remember Nainee?"

Anakin nodded. Nainee had been an older girl, another of Gardulla the Hutt's slaves, like Peyna. She'd been sold and taken away from Mos Espa a couple years before.

"A man paid Gardulla a lot of money so he could do that with Nainee. She wouldn't stop crying afterwards. Then he talked Gardulla into letting him buy her and took her away with him."

Anakin stared at her in horror. Then he ducked his head and bit his lip, his hands clenching to fists in his lap. If anyone had dared do that to his mother…

Even Seek was subdued after Peyna's story. None of them could quite look at each other any more, so great relief greeted the first call in to dinner. The children quickly scattered to their various homes.

* * *

Shmi could tell Anakin was troubled as soon as he dragged his feet through the door, in marked contrast to his usual bounding rush. He ate hungrily, for food was scarce and he never got quite enough to satisfy the needs of his growing body, but his normal enthusiasm was missing. She waited patiently, for she knew eventually he would spill his concerns to her. 

He remained silent as she cleared away the dishes and brought out the mula fruit she had been saving for a special treat. The fruit was small, not even as large as her fist, and slightly shriveled, but still sweet. She turned her half on her plate, hiding the place where she had pared away the patch of mold that had allowed her to bargain the price down to the merely extravagant. Anakin smiled as she set his half before him, and ate it with something more like his usual enjoyment. Reluctantly he savored the last small bite, and then set his fork down with a sigh. He turned to her with worried eyes. "Mom…"

"Yes, Anakin?"

"After work today, some of the kids were saying… I mean, they were talking about… about… fathers." He said the word in a rush.

Shmi froze, understanding smile fixed on her face. She had known this day must come, eventually. Sooner or later Anakin would start to ask questions. All children did. And all parents struggled to find the right answers. But Shmi's task was much more difficult than most parents'. She swallowed, steeled herself, then sat down beside him and nodded her encouragement.

"And when I told them I didn't have one, they said I had to, and they told me…" He poured out the shocking revelation to her, flushed with embarrassment, comforted that she neither withdrew in horror nor laughed. "Is it true, Mom? Is that where babies come from?"

She sighed. If only it could be that simple for her. But she smiled reassuringly. "Yes, Ani, it's true."

His eyes dropped. "And Peyna said…" His voice fell to a whisper. "…sometimes girls don't want to, but men make them… Is that true too?"

Shmi would not lie to her son, though her heart ached that he must confront the ugly truths of the universe so young. "Yes, Anakin, it is." She hastened to add, "But when both people want to, when they love each other, it can be very beautiful, Anakin. It is a wonderful thing, to share your body with someone you love, to conceive a child together."

He looked up hopefully. "So did… did you… I mean, who…?" He blushed and looked down again.

She found, much as she wanted to be honest with him, that she could not explain, not when she didn't truly understand herself. She stared down at his tousled blonde hair. For a long moment there was silence.

Anakin squirmed, embarrassed, and twisted toward his sleeping chamber. "Never mind, Mom. I shouldn't have asked."

Shmi caught his chin in her hand and turned his face up to hers. She gazed into his bright blue eyes, so different from her brown ones. "Anakin. It's all right." She took a deep breath. "I wanted a child to love, Anakin, and you came to me. Does anything else really matter?"

The intensity of the love and trust shining up at her from those eyes dazzled her. He shook his head, mutely, and she allowed him to slip away to his room.

Later, after he'd tinkered for a while with his latest project, he readied himself for sleep and crawled under his covers. She came and sat on the edge of his bed, brushing the tousled hair out of his eyes. For many years this had been their nightly ritual, but lately he'd protested he was old enough to go to bed on his own. It had been a while since she'd had the pleasure of watching his tired body relax into sleep. But tonight they both felt he needed her presence.

"Would you like me to tell you a story?" He loved to listen to her stories. She would weave fantastic tales for him, of times long ago and places far away, to free his imagination, at least, from the dreary bonds of reality. She drew on her memories of the traditional tales her own mother had told her, passed down for generations, freely adding to or altering the stories as her mood dictated.

"Yes, please." He snuggled closer to her.

"Let's see…" One of the old folk tales leapt into her mind. "I don't think I've told you this one before. This is the story of the Slumbering Princess."

Her voice took on a dreamy, singsong quality. "Once upon a time, a long, long time ago, before the Republic or even space travel, on some world like Alderaan or Naboo where they still had kings and queens, a royal princess was born. The King and Queen were overjoyed, and decided to throw a grand festival for her naming ceremony. All the most important people in the country were invited. Many powerful good fairies lived in that country, and the King and Queen invited them all. But one, terrible, evil fairy also lived there, and the King and Queen chose not to invite her, because they feared her, and did not want her evil presence to cast a shadow on the festivities.

"The day of the festival arrived, and all was grand and glorious. One by one all the visiting dignitaries came forward and presented their gifts to the infant princess, gold and jewels and other treasures. Then each of the fairies came forward with magical gifts. They endowed the princess with beauty and grace, a quick mind and a strong body, talent and good fortune in whatever task she set her hand to. And all the people rejoiced that their kingdom was blessed with the extraordinary person the Princess would grow up to be.

"But near the end of the ceremony, when almost all the gifts had been presented, a shadow fell across the assembled company, and a chill of foreboding touched every heart. Into the hall strode the evil fairy, terrible to behold, tall and deadly, robed and hooded in black. She climbed the steps to the dais, and glowered down at the Princess where she lay in her cradle. Then she fixed her stare on the King and Queen and spoke.

"'You did not see fit to invite me to your celebration – '

"'We forgot,' stammered the King. 'It was a terrible oversight. We are sorry…'

"'But I have come anyway,' she continued, ignoring him. 'I, too, have a gift to give your daughter.' She turned back to the baby, who had begun to cry. 'Truly as she grows she will display all the gifts she has been given, and will be lovely, and talented, and strong. And so she will come to womanhood. But on the day before her first child is to be born, she will burn her finger in a candle flame – and _die_."

"With this she whirled her cloak about herself and vanished. The Queen snatched the child from her cradle and held her close. The King called for his guards to come and seize the evil fairy, but it was too late. She was gone. There was a great uproar and clamor, as all present exclaimed over the evil fairy's curse.

"Then, among the chaos, the last good fairy, the only one who had not yet presented her gift, stepped forward. She was very old, and very powerful, and very wise. She took the Princess in her arms, and the child quieted at her touch. She studied the girl's face, and a hush fell over the crowd as they waited to hear what she would say.

"Finally she looked up and addressed the King and Queen. 'I'm sorry,' she said. '_I cannot undo what has been done…_'"

Shmi's voice faltered, and the rhythm of the tale was lost as the words she spoke burned on her tongue. She fell silent.

Anakin looked up at her curiously. When the silence had lasted a long moment, he spoke. "Then what happened, Mom?"

But Shmi did not hear him, for she was too deeply lost in her own thoughts. She understood, now, why she had chosen this story to tell tonight. She sat beside her son, and she remembered…

* * *

Shmi's hand shook with weariness as she ladled the thick stew from the enormous cauldron. Beads of sweat rolled down her cheeks as she retreated from the heating unit toward the counter where the long line of her fellow slaves waited to be served their one substantial meal of the day. She made her fingers, stained purple from the long morning of peeling tubers and knuckles scraped from the long afternoon of grating roots, clutch the hot bowl tightly, for the head cook had threatened her with dire punishments if so much as one drop of stew spilled and was wasted. She believed him, for Jabba the Hutt's compound was notorious among slaves for the capricious brutality of its discipline. Three days ago, when she learned she'd been sold to Jabba, she had barely been able to contain her horror. Her last owner was not the kindest she'd ever had, but he was tolerable, and now, after her first day laboring in Jabba's slave kitchen, her previous life seemed almost luxurious by comparison. 

Her stomach rumbled with hunger, and she longed to devour the stew she carried, though it was dull grayish-brown in color and lacked any spices or flavorings to enliven its bland nutrition. But the drudges of the slave kitchen, lowest ranking in the hierarchy of the compound, were not allowed to eat until all the other slaves had been served.

The head cook glowered at her to hurry, so she quickened her steps as much as she could while still keeping them smooth enough that the stew did not slop. At the head of the line a tall blond man waited, chatting and laughing with the group clustered behind him. As she reached across the counter to hand the bowl to him, he glanced over at her and smiled. She caught her breath, dazzled by the light in his grey-green eyes, washed by the warmth in his flashing grin. As his fingers, reaching out to take the bowl, brushed hers, she snatched her hands back, releasing the bowl before he had a good grip on it. It tilted and crashed to the ground, and she stared down in horror at the spreading puddle of stew.

He bent to pick up the bowl an instant before she did. He winked at her, jerking his head to where the head cook was approaching, hand going to the short whip at his belt.

Straightening he grinned and shook his head in bemusement. "Well, I'm just a clumsy bantha today, aren't I?" He pressed the empty bowl into the head cook's hands. "I'm so sorry. That was all my fault. Let me help clean it up."

"No, no." Shmi was startled to see the head cook act almost obsequious. Surely the blond man was another slave. Only slaves ate here, after all; Jabba's free servants and employees ate in a different dining hall. The cook whirled on her. "Girl! Get him another bowl!" Shmi hurried to comply, the cook's eyes hard on her back. She knew he suspected she had dropped the bowl, and seethed with frustration that he was prevented from punishing her by this kind stranger assuming responsibility.

Carefully this time, she handed the man his bowl. His hands closed over hers. "You're new here, aren't you? What's your name?"

"Shmi," she mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes.

"I'm Kern." He smiled, and refused to release her hands until she returned a trembling smile. "I'll try not to spill this one!" He turned to his waiting friends with a sardonic joke at his own expense, and Shmi hurried to fill more bowls and pass them out.

She watched him, as she passed food to the endless line of hungry slaves, her actions quickly becoming mechanical. He was not loud, or flashy, but people swirled around his center, drawn to him like moonmoths to a floodlamp. No sooner had he seated himself at a table then it filled with others, men and women eager to bask in the glow of his easy charm.

_It wasn't me_, she thought, throat tight with irrational disappointment. _He's like that with everybody._

Soon he finished his meal and rose to leave. Only two-thirds of the long line had snaked its way past Shmi. As he passed her, he caught her eye with his quick, flashing grin, and mimed holding a bowl tightly in front of him. Despite herself she giggled, and waved him off with a shooing motion. She tried to concentrate on her work after that, but every now and then the image of his conspiratorial smile would slip into her mind's eye, and her eyes would sparkle and the corner of her mouth tilt up.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

That night, after she was shown the tiny alcove where she would sleep, and had gathered with the other female slaves in the common area of the women's quarters, she summoned up the courage to ask who he was.

"Kern? You must mean Kern Bluesand." The woman paused from brushing her long black hair. She was a dancer, Shmi thought she remembered, one of Jabba's own entertainers. She was almost sure the woman had said her name, but today had been such a blur of new names and faces that she couldn't remember it. "You have good taste. But don't get your hopes up. He's far above you."

"He's a slave, isn't he?"

"Yes, though you'd never know it by the way he acts. He works in the garage, as a mechanic. He's the best; I've heard Jabba won't let anyone else touch the engine of his personal speeder."

"Oh."

Hearing Kern's name, a number of other women had clustered around them. Their expressions ranged from wistful to avaricious to resigned. They began an animated discussion of Kern's positive qualities that quickly strayed into territory that had Shmi blushing and retreating to the far corner of the room.

"Oh, don't mind them." Shmi looked around to see who had spoken. A young woman about her own age with close cropped red hair was beckoning to Shmi, indicating the place beside her on one of the benches that lined the wall. Shmi gratefully sank down beside her.

"I'm Darna. This your first day here?"

Shmi nodded.

"Well, like I was saying, don't pay Marishelle and her bunch any mind." Darna wrinkled her heavily freckled nose in the direction of the black-haired dancer and the other gossiping women. "They're just jealous. You can bet Kern never smiled at any of _them_. There's not a one of them that wouldn't fall all over themselves to get so much as a glance from him. Personally, I think he's a bit of a cold fish, no offense intended. If you like him, I mean. So, where are you assigned? I didn't catch your name, by the way."

"I'm Shmi Skywalker." Shmi was rather overwhelmed by Darna's talkative manner. "They put me to work in the kitchen."

"Not bad. Me, I'm in the laundry. Nasty work that, and hot as blazes. Droid work, really, 'cept slaves are cheaper than droids, leastwise with as much maintenance as they take to keep working, what with the sand and all. You didn't happen to slip a little extra food out, did you?"

"No. They watch us pretty closely."

"Too bad. If you ever get the chance, I sure would appreciate it. I could probably get you an extra clean tunic every now and then. Those dancers may be able to get by on the rations they give us, but those of us doing real work need a bit more. Not to mention…" Darna face took on a sly, secretive look, and she patted her belly, which Shmi now noticed was rounded just a bit out of proportion to the rest of Darna's lean frame. "…some might have reason to be a little extra hungry, if you understand me."

Shmi's eyes widened. "You're…"

Smugly, Darna nodded. "Yep. Three months gone, near as I can figure. See, that's why I'm not jealous of you, like all those other girls. I've got my man already. Works the laundry with me. Now if you were to set your sights on him, I might take issue with you."

"But how…"

"Oh, there's ways. Jabba doesn't care, really, if the men and women get together. Doesn't encourage it, mind, but doesn't work too hard to get in the way, neither. When one of us girls turns up pregnant, he sells us off to Rinadda the Hutt. He's got a big breeding operation on the other side of Mos Espa. Pays Jabba a nice bonus. Yep, this little tyke is my ticket out of here. Soon as I'm big enough it slows me down, I'm off to the good life for a few months, at least. 'Course, sooner or later they'll probably sell me back here. Unless I get lucky and get bought by someone easier than Jabba."

"But what about your…" Shmi couldn't quite bring herself to use Darna's casual "man," but couldn't figure out how else to phrase it.

"Oh, I'm getting tired of him anyway. He'll find someone else soon enough. Long before I come back here, if I do."

Shmi gaped at her. She knew this sort of careless attitude about sex and romance was common among her fellow slaves, but she had never encountered it so openly before, and the thought was so foreign to her nature she couldn't help but let the shock show on her face.

Darna tossed her head. "Believe me, there's better than him out there. He was fun for a tumble or two, that's all. You'll learn soon enough, that's all they want from us anyway."

"What about your baby? Will they… take it away from you?" The thought horrified Shmi.

"Sure, after a few months. That's what they did with the other two. Unless someone wants to buy us both." Darna shrugged. "Good riddance to the little brats. Rinadda has a whole set up, raising and training them."

"You don't _care_?" The woman next to her seemed suddenly alien to Shmi, and she drew back.

Darna's bright green eyes had gone hard and cold. "No, I don't. Why should I?"

Shmi sputtered. "But… they're your babies, your children… you're their _mother_…"

Darna stood up. Her voice was coldly dismissive. "I see. Well, I must be going. I have better things to do than sit and chat with someone who obviously has no interest in making friends with me." Suddenly she leaned close to Shmi, and her voice dropped to a hiss. "How dare you sit in judgment on me like some pampered princess? You're a slave just like me, no better than I am, and if you don't learn what that means pretty quick, I promise you'll be sorry."

She turned her back on Shmi and strode across the room, trailed by the women who had begun to cluster around to listen to their conversation.

Shmi sat, stunned, surrounded by a clear area in the crowded room, Darna's threat ringing in her ears. Wherever she looked, none of the other women would meet her eyes.

When she recovered her composure, she tried to approach a few of the other women, but none of them would speak to her for more than a moment before drifting away. Hurt and bewildered, Shmi sought the privacy of her little alcove well before lights-out. Her thoughts buzzed in confused circles, replaying her conversations with Darna, trying to understand how it had gone wrong. She hadn't _meant_ to be judgmental. She had a sick feeling that she'd just made her time in Jabba's compound much more difficult than it might have been. She was sure Darna could be a dangerous enemy if she wanted to.

Shmi consoled herself that by her own statement, Darna would be gone soon, sold to the Hutt with the breeding compound. She turned her thoughts away from the other woman, seeking anything pleasant or hopeful.

Kern. She saw his smile again before her eyes, felt his touch warm and strong on her hands. The memories comforted her, and she was able eventually to relax into sleep.

Over the next few weeks, Shmi's days settled into a routine. The work in the kitchen was heavy enough that by night she was worn out, able to ignore the cold unfriendliness of the other women as she quickly sought her bed. She was accustomed to loneliness, after all. At most of her previous owners' she'd been the only slave. This exclusion wasn't really all that different.

The moment each day that she placed Kern's meal in his hands became more and more the one bright center of her existence, the event she looked forward to all the long hours of labor, and thought back on before she dropped off to sleep at night. He would always have a smile for her, and often a friendly greeting. At first she could only smile shyly back, but soon she was laughing at his witty remarks, or even joking in return.

One day he was not in his accustomed place at the head of the line. She looked for him anxiously, more and more worried that something had happened to him, but finally he appeared, almost to the end of the line, in among the lowest status slaves, the young, the old, and those assigned the most unpleasant tasks. She was so relieved to see him alive and unhurt that she had to stop and close her eyes a moment, before she could resume her task. By the time it was his turn and she was scooping out his portion of doughy casserole from the vast pan it had been baked in, her heart had slowed enough for her to feel annoyed at him.

"Where were you? I thought you might be hurt." Her tone was sharper than she had intended.

He was unrepentant. "I had to work late." He accepted his plate, grinned at her, and moved on.

When finally the last of the line had been served, she was free to take her own small portion and seek a spot at a table. Her eyes roamed the long rows of benches, searching for him. Perhaps she could choose a place where she could watch him unobserved.

"Mind if I join you?" The quiet voice next to her ear made her jump, and his hand came up to steady the plate that trembled in her grip. He stood close beside her, and the hairs on her arm prickled and stood up, so acutely aware was she of his nearness.

"No! I mean yes. I mean, I don't mind." She felt foolish and awkward. She took a deep breath. "I'd like that."

They chose a spot at one end of one of the long trestle tables. He seated himself across from her. Shmi stared fixedly down at her food as she ate, feeling his eyes often upon her as they both partook. He let her eat without speaking, for which she was grateful, until her food was gone and her hunger, though never truly satisfied, was at least dulled.

He leaned forward and tried to catch her eye. "So, Shmi, how are you adjusting to life in Jabba's household?"

"Well enough, I guess. The work is much harder than at my last owner's."

He nodded gravely. "Jabba works his slaves harder than anyone else on Tatooine. Some falter under the weight, but others grow strong."

She looked up in surprise at the thoughtful, almost bitter tone in his voice. His eyes were looking far beyond her, and his face was carved with lines of weariness and pain. Then he shook his head, and she wondered if she had imagined it, for all his easy humor was back in his eyes and the lines of his mouth.

"I brought you something." She blinked in surprise at his announcement. With one hand he rummaged in his belt pouch; with the other he reached for her hand and pulled it forward. Gently he deposited a tiny plant on her palm.

She bent her head to study it. Sandy soil still clung to hair-thin roots. Narrow oval leaves sprang from a slender stalk. A cluster of minute star-shaped flowers crowned the stalk in a spray of white and gold.

"Even on Tatooine there are flowers." His voice was low, his head bent close to hers. "This one grew beside a path, in a crack between two rocks. I used to look for it every day, when I passed. Today someone had stepped off the path, and knocked it loose from its place." He reached out the tip of one finger to stroke it. "It's tougher than it looks. It still clings to life. Something inside it won't give up that easily." His hands cupped around hers. "I think it could survive, if someone replanted it, gave it a little water – not too much – a little sunshine, a little nurturing. What do you think?"

He was so near his cheek nearly touched hers. Trembling, she nodded, not trusting her voice to speak.

He smiled down at the flower in her hands, tender and gentle. "I thought of you, when I saw it. Still alive, still fighting to live, after all it's been through." He rose as he spoke and came around behind her, eyes still focused on the flower. His hand settled briefly on her shoulder. "Still growing, still green… still beautiful." She swiveled around to look at him, but he was gazing at the plant in her hands. His fingers tightened momentarily on her shoulder, then released it. "See you tomorrow, Shmi."

Then he was gone.

She stared after him, breathing hard. What had just happened? Had it been merely a gesture of goodwill, friendship, camaraderie from a fellow victim of grinding oppression, or could it have been – she hardly dared to think it – something more? She licked lips gone suddenly dry. Her hands started to clench into fists, but she stopped, cupping them protectively around the precious scrap of life he had entrusted to her.

Even if all he offered was friendship, that would be a dear enough treasure to be cherished in this lonely and hostile place. She dared not hope for anything else.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The next day she wasn't surprised when he came late, and waited to sit with her. "I've got something to show you." She was antsy with anticipation, but she made him sit and eat first, bolting down her own food as quickly as she could. The dining hall was close to empty when they had finished. They stacked their bowls with all the rest of the dirty dishes, which it would soon be Shmi's task to wash, but she kept the cup that held the last bit of her meager water ration for the day.

She led him to the kitchen, checking carefully to make sure they were not observed, then out the door in the back that led outside. It opened into a walled courtyard that housed the garbage pile, where all the kitchen waste was dumped to rot and desiccate under the baking light of the twin suns. There, in the far corner, she had planted the little flower.

He knelt beside her as she carefully poured the last few drops from her cup at its base. It was a bit wilted still, and she studied it, worried. "Do you think it will make it?"

"I think it might." She turned, to find him looking not at the flower, but at her, his warm smile lighting his eyes. She looked away quickly, but an answering warmth kindled in her belly and washed throughout her body until it tingled in her toes and fingertips. Greatly daring, she turned back, and smiled hesitantly in return for a moment, their eyes meeting. Then she scrambled to her feet and darted for the kitchen door. "Come on, we can't let them catch you out here. I've got to get started on the dishes."

It became their custom, in the days that followed, to eat together, and to slip out afterwards to water the flower. Its roots took hold and its stem perked up, and though it dropped a few leaves, by the time a month had passed it was obvious it would survive and thrive. Shmi gradually became more comfortable in Kern's company. They talked, at first of superficial things, the gossip of the slave quarters, the challenges and successes of their work. But over the days and weeks they slowly began to share more personal subjects.

"I can just remember when it happened. I was four, I think. We had traveled for vacation to another planet, and were returning home. The pirates boarded the ship and took all the passengers prisoner. Those that had wealthy friends or relatives were ransomed, and the rest of us were brought here to Tatooine and sold into slavery. I was kept with my mother for a few years, until I was seven or eight, I think, but then I was old enough to do a full day's work, and our owner didn't need us both, so I was sold." She stared down into her bowl of stew, remembering how she'd screamed and kicked and bit when they dragged her away, the silent tears running down her mother's face, the endless nights of hopeless weeping. She couldn't tell him that part, not yet. She wondered if she ever would. She didn't want him to feel sorry for her.

"I was born a slave." His voice was soft, reflective. "My mother was owned by a rich merchant in Mos Eisley. He had a wife, and grown children, but he used her for a bedmate sometimes. He sired me. He favored me because of it, and saw to it that I was educated. When I showed mechanical aptitude, he had me trained at the best shop in Mos Eisley. When I was sixteen Jabba made him an offer for me, and he accepted. I think he meant well; Jabba is the most wealthy and powerful being on Tatooine. He knew I would have status and respect. But he couldn't understand that none of that really mattered. Not if I would always be a slave." The bitterness was in his voice, and the weary lines on his face. She didn't see them often, but every now and then he would allow them to show. She laid her hand over his, giving what comfort she could.

Once he brought a ragged deck of handmade cards, and started teaching her to play sabaac. She protested her ignorance, and early on made every classic beginner's mistake, until the pile of the pebbles they wagered for grew tall in front of him. But gradually she gained skill and began to win a hand or two. She enjoyed their games, though he told her the two-person version they played was a pale reflection of the true game. "You can't really say you know sabaac until you've played with a seven through a full hundred and three rounds. It's just not the same with less. Ketrell and his gang of Gamorreans – they're guards, they spend most of their time when they're not on patrol huddled around their cards in a corner of the garage – they'd laugh at our pitiful little twosome."

Shmi rifled the cards thoughtfully. Perhaps… "Do you mind if I take these with me? I might be able to get some of the other women to play with me."

"Go ahead. Just bring them with you tomorrow. I still need to show you how to build a six-card orbit."

That night, in the common room, Shmi looked nervously around from her place on a bench near the door. The women had split up into their various groups, as usual. On the far side of the room tinny music projected from an ancient recording device, the prized possession of the most favored group of slaves, the dancers and other personal and ornamental slaves who had the privilege of service in Jabba's own presence. Marishelle, the tall, black haired dancer, was showing some of the other girls a new move she was perfecting. They offered her fawning flattery and begged her to teach them how to do it. A green-skinned Twi'lek frowned in concentration as she painted intricate designs on her lekku, and several women of various species were giving each other massages. Shmi looked away. None of them would ever dream of socializing with the likes of her.

A cluster of comfortable chairs held the next highest-status group of slaves, the skilled workers and those in positions of authority over other slaves. The women who worked in Jabba's own kitchen, preparing the fine cuisine he demanded, were there, along with a few mechanics from the garage, the head seamstress, and the leader of the cleaning crew. They leaned close together in earnest conversation. Shmi shook her head. She would have no luck trying to recruit players for her game among them either.

She turned her attention to the largest group of women, to which she was loosely attached. They clustered, chatting, on the chairs and benches around her, the common workers of kitchen, laundry, sewing room, cleaning crew, and all the other myriad tasks required to keep the huge compound running smoothly. Friendships and alliances among these women were constantly shifting. Their numbers were always changing, as slaves were bought and sold, so the politics of status, of inclusion and exclusion, were never far from the surface. Shmi had never been owned by one of the big compounds before. She had been mostly isolated from the company of other woman since she was eight years old. So she did not understand how the game was played, or how to find a place for herself within it. She only knew that since her first day there, when she had unwittingly alienated Darna, she had been relegated to the edges of the circle, barely tolerated or rejected outright, along with a handful of other outcasts. Darna was always near the center of the swirling spirals of relationships. Shmi had watched her carefully since that first day, and come to realize that beneath her friendly, folksy exterior Darna possessed a cunning intellect and a ruthless ambition. If Darna targeted you as an enemy, you were shunned as thoroughly as the poor alien girl whose mouthparts could not form Basic as anything but a meaningless mumble, or the woman that a too-severe beating had left with wandering wits and a vacant stare, or the two old women who scrubbed out the refreshers and always carried the reek of their duty with them.

But there were a few Shmi thought might be open to a friendly overture. There was a new girl who seemed just as bewildered as Shmi by the intricacies of rank and position. Another who always held herself a bit aloof from it all, seeming to consider it beneath her. One who was just inherently sweet natured, incapable of coldness to anyone. A few more. Shmi located them in the crowd, eyeing them nervously as she dealt out the starting position of a solitaire game on the bench beside her. As she worked her way through the deck, placing each card as best she could, she pondered the best way to approach them.

Birnette, the new girl, drifted over to watch Shmi play. Shmi had just come to the conclusion that the solitaire configuration was one she had no hope of winning, so she gathered up the cards and smiled shyly at Birnette. "I know a game two can play. Would you like to join me?"

Birnette looked around worriedly, then shrugged and seated herself next to Shmi. "I guess."

Shmi pulled out a handful of hairpins from her apron pocket to use for wagering and started to explain the rules of sabaac to Birnette. Before long several others had gathered around them. Shmi included them in her instruction, passing out hairpins and cards.

As the game gathered momentum and the players' voices grew more animated, Shmi felt a warm glow building inside her. It was working!

She gathered the cards at the end of the hand and shuffled them. As she dealt them around the circle, Paulia, the kind-hearted one, smiled at her, warm but a touch uncertain. "You know, Shmi, you seem much nicer than I've always heard."

Shmi paused and looked at her, a chill washing through her body.

Paulia blushed. "Not that I ever believed all those ugly things they were saying about you.

"Ugly things?" Shmi felt a flush creeping across her face, not sure if it was shame or anger, or a mix of the two. "Like what?"

"Like… um… well…" Her stammering trailed away. "I mean, they were all obviously lies. Look, forget I said anything." Paulia made a show of studying her cards. "Let's just play."

Shmi nodded, and the bidding went around the circle, but the comfortable camaraderie that had been forming was spoiled. When that hand was over, each of the other women found some pretense to excuse herself, and Shmi was left sitting alone, with the deck of cards in her hands. Defiantly, she shuffled and dealt out a game of solitaire again, but halfway through had to quit, tears blurring her eyes so the markings on the cards swam and ran beyond recognition. She gathered them up and fled to her alcove. As she left the common room she noticed Darna watching her from across the room, a hard look of satisfaction on her face.

The next day she pressed the cards back into Kern's hand. "No one wanted to play."

"No?" He sounded disappointed, and a bit surprised. "That's too bad." He studied her, and Shmi turned away so he wouldn't see the brightness in her eyes, or how hard she was biting her lower lip so it wouldn't tremble. "Did something happen?"

"No." It was none of his business how the other women felt about her. But his concern was so genuine she felt she had to offer some explanation. "It's just… I'm not very popular with the other girls. None of them like me much."

Kern made a disapproving noise. "They're just a silly flock of loofie birds, then."

Picturing Darna as one of the round, clumsy birds that clustered at the edge of Tatooine's cities, pecking at scraps, brought a wan smile to Shmi's face. Encouraged, Kern flapped his elbows like wings and did a credible impression of a loofie's shrill screech, which reduced Shmi to a puddle of giggles. Kern dissolved into laughter with her.

"There, that's better," he said, when they had quieted. "If they don't want to get to know you, that's their loss. You're just about the most likeable person I know."

"Really?" Shmi blushed, flattered.

"Really. I feel lucky to have you for a friend."

"Not nearly as lucky as I am to have you for a friend." His words filled Shmi with a warm glow. She was indeed lucky. She did her best to ignore the little pang of disappointment that stole around the edges of her happiness. Was a friend all he would ever consider her?

She had much cause to be grateful for his friendship, and the brief time they were able to spend together each day, in the following weeks. The other women had grown even colder and more distant with her. She gave up even trying to interact with them, retreating to the solitude of her alcove each evening.

After a while though, the ache of her isolation grew too miserable to bear, and she resolved to try once more to fit in. This time she decided to go straight to the source of the problem.

It was difficult to catch Darna alone, because usually she was surrounded by a group of whichever women were in her favor at the moment. But one evening Shmi managed to stop her in the corridor as she headed toward the common room from the refresher. "Darna, could I talk to you?"

Darna regarded her with a lazy smile, crossing her arms above the now prominent swell of her belly. "What do you want?"

"I… I think we got off to a bad start, when I first came here. I was rude and insulted you, and I just wanted to apologize."

"It took you long enough." Darna's voice was flat.

"Yes." Shmi squirmed beneath Darna's bright green gaze. "Well, that's all I had to say, really. That I'm sorry. And… some of the other girls seem to have heard things about me that aren't true, and I was hoping you could help me stop the rumors."

"Hmmm… I hope you're not suggesting that I _started_ any of these rumors, are you?" Darna smiled, sugar-sweet.

Shmi hated the way Darna was forcing her to lie. She knew very well the red-haired woman was the source of the slander. But she made her voice as conciliatory as she could. "Of course not. But all the girls look up to you, respect you, so I'm sure they would believe you if you said they were mistaken."

Darna cocked her head appraisingly at Shmi. "I might be able to help you. But if I do, I think it's only fair that you do something to help me."

Shmi felt dirty, groveling for Darna's favor this way, but if that's what it took… "I could bring you extra food."

Yawning, Darna looked off toward the common room door. "Food's good. But you're asking me for quite a favor, you know. I would think you'd be willing to offer more in return."

Darna had her right where she wanted her, Shmi realized, begging to be restored to her good graces. She could see the pleasure the other woman took in her humiliation. "I could give you some of my water ration, or some of my turns in the shower. Really I don't have very much."

"You're friends with Kern Bluesand, aren't you?"

Shmi stared at her, startled and confused.

Darna stroked the curve of her belly possessively. "I'll be going to Rinadda's pretty soon. When I get back – if Jabba buys me again – you could introduce me to him. I've taken a bit of a fancy to him lately. He is one of the most handsome men here."

Shmi shook her head, trying to find her voice. "Kern wouldn't… I couldn't…"

Darna cocked one eyebrow at her, smiling sweetly. Her voice was almost a purr. "It's your choice, dear. You give me a chance with Kern, and you'll be amazed how popular you suddenly become. You could even have him back, after I'm done with him. Friends share with each other, after all. If you want to be my friend, you'll share with me."

She wasn't a loofie bird at all, Shmi suddenly understood. She was the clawcat stalking the loofie, anticipating a mouthful of warm meat and feathers. It amused her to play with her prey, driving it one way and then the other, until it ran to impale itself on her talons.

Well, Shmi wouldn't fall into that trap. She trembled, knowing she would forfeit all hope of ever being accepted by the other women by refusing Darna's demands, but the memory of Kern's warm affection fortified her against Darna's false sweetness. "No."

For a moment Darna's eyes narrowed, but then she assumed again an air of nonchalance. "Are you sure?"

Shmi wavered. Darna might never come back to Jabba's compound. Even if she did, Shmi would surely be justified in reneging on an extorted bargain. An empty promise now, and she could enjoy the benefits of Darna's influence in her favor, knowing she would never actually have to pay the price.

But she found she could not do it. Her friendship with Kern was the one good, real, sacred thing in her life, and she could not bear to sully it so. "Very sure."

Darna shrugged. "If that's what you want. It would be a shame, though, if more of those ugly rumors got started. I wouldn't be able to do anything to stop them."

"No." Shmi's mouth was dry. "I don't suppose you would."

She pressed herself against the wall of the corridor as Darna swept by, clenching her fists to contain her rage, fuming inside. She despised Darna with an intensity the like of which she had only ever before felt toward the pirates who had sold her into slavery.

The next week she lurked in the corner of the common room watching the other women cluster around Darna, making a show of tearful good-byes and earnest wishes of good luck. News had come that Darna and her impending offspring had been sold to Rinadda the Hutt, and would depart the next day. The hypocrisy of the maudlin scene turned Shmi's stomach, but she could almost have joined in with those proclaiming their desire that Darna's journey be quick and easy, just for the relief she felt that Darna would be gone. With any luck, she would be sold to some owner far away from Jabba's compound, and Shmi would never have to face her malice again.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4 **

After Shmi had been at Jabba's compound for six months, the head cook decided he was pleased with her work, and moved her to the servant's kitchen. Now she cooked a slightly higher quality of food for the paid employees of Jabba's household. A newer slave was given her old job in the slave kitchen. When she was first told of the promotion, her stomach lurched sickeningly with fear that she would no longer be able to see Kern. But she was still required to eat her own meals in the slaves' mess hall, and now she could wait in line with Kern as well, giving them a few extra precious minutes together each day.

One day, not long after the change, she joined him in line, eyes sparkling with mischief. He knew immediately that she had some secret, but she refused to tell him, gesturing around her at the press of bodies surrounding them. Only when they had retreated outside the kitchen door, and sat down by where the little plant had grown and spread into a patch of flowers blooming among the rocks, would she reveal it.

"Look." She pulled two slightly squashed balls of sweet dough from her apron pocket. "We were making these for dessert, and I managed to hide a couple. One for you and one for me." She pressed his into his hand, and bit into her own, the creamy filling tasting more wonderful than anything she could remember. She watched him take his first bite, heart glowing with satisfaction that she could give him this pleasure. He savored the little pastry slowly, eyes fixed on her.

When he had finished, he licked the last traces from his fingers and regarded her, expression grave. The smile faded from her face. "Didn't you like it?"

"It was wonderful," he assured her, his grin flashing, then gone. He reached out and took her hands, and leaned toward her. "Shmi, do you trust me?"

The intensity in his eyes frightened her. She clutched his hands, warm on hers. "With my life."

"And can I trust you?" His voice had dropped almost to a whisper.

Her heart pounded. "You know you can."

He nodded slowly, eyes never leaving hers. "With my life."

He glanced around, though no one ever disturbed them out here. Then he bent to his belt pouch. He opened it and rummaged down in the very bottom. He drew out a bundle of greasy rags, which he unfolded carefully, offering her a glimpse of a small, shiny object. Then he tucked the bundle closed and quickly secreted it back in his pouch.

She didn't understand, but she knew what she had seen must be infinitely precious, and dangerous. "What is it?"

He spoke so softly she could barely hear his reply, "It's a key to one of Jabba's speeders. I duplicated it secretly."

She looked up at him, eyes wide with wonder. "You have a plan to… _escape_." Her lips and tongue scarcely shaped the word.

"Yes." He studied their hands, once again clasped between them. Then he turned his eyes back to her face, and they met hers, burning. "Come with me, Shmi." His eyes dropped again, and his voice faltered. "I don't… want to go… if it means leaving you behind." Then, in a rush, "But it will be terribly dangerous, and I can't bear to think I'd be putting you in danger –"

"Hush." She silenced him with a hand on his lips. "Of course I'll come with you. I've dreamt of freedom every single day for as long as I can remember. I want it more than anything in the galaxy!"

That was true; it had always been true. So why did it feel like a lie? Or at least, not quite the whole truth… Was there something she wanted even more, now?

His lips were so soft beneath her shushing fingers. She pulled her hand away. She looked away, but her eyes were drawn inexorably back to his.

Her heart raced. She couldn't imagine daring to speak, but the word escaped almost of its own volition. "Except…"

"Except…?" His head bent close to her, eyes questioning. His arms reached hesitantly to encircle her.

"Except…" Her face tilted to meet his, and she melted into his embrace. Then his lips were on hers, soft and unbearably sweet, like cool fresh water flooding that arid place, quenching her terrible thirst. She drank him in, and the pleasure of it washed in sparkling waves through her body.

At length they drew apart, and she buried her face in his chest, soaking in the warmth of his body, marveling at how perfectly safe she felt with his arms strong around her.

His hand stroked her hair. "Oh, Shmi." His voice was ragged. "This wasn't supposed to happen. I have so little to offer you…"

She pulled back, indignant. "Do you think I care?"

He refused to back down. "I have no right to ask anything of you. A man should be able to take care of the woman he loves, to provide for her, not take from her and give nothing in return but disgrace and danger." His hands twisted the hem of his tunic. "And… I do love you, Shmi."

Time stretched and distorted, and the words hung suspended between them. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only swim in the endless depths of his eyes. But somehow her lips could shape her response. "And I love you, Kern."

She gave a little cry as she threw herself again into his arms, and he met it with a groan as he crushed her to him.

After a long time, which nevertheless felt like only the tiniest sliver of the eternity she wanted to spend there, she dragged herself out of his embrace. Though it was the hardest thing she'd ever done, she struggled to her feet and stepped away from him, smoothing her hair and rumpled clothes distractedly. "We've got to go. They'll come looking for us if we're not back at work on time."

"Yes." He climbed to his feet also, and they stood staring at each other. Finally Shmi turned and ran, blinded by her tears, back into the compound, through the kitchen and dining hall, slowing and scrubbing her sleeve across her eyes only when she had passed well beyond the corridor he must turn down to go back to the garage.

All the rest of that day she threw herself into her work, concentrating so intently on her tasks that there was no room left for thought or memory, hope or despair. But in her bed that night she could no longer hold back the flood, and she relived every moment of their brief time together, the sensation of his lips flaming anew on her mouth. Her sleep was restless, her dreams an endless succession of kisses, each more passionate and sensual than the last.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5 

The harsh klaxon woke her in the chill darkness before suns-rise next morning, calling the slaves to their labor. In her hazy half-wakefulness it was difficult to distinguish dream from reality, and for a desolate moment she was sure none of it had been real. But the shock of her warm bare feet hitting the cold floor drove the last mists of sleep from her mind. She pulled on her leggings and boots, and belted her day tunic and apron over the shift that served for both sleep and undertunic. Then she paused, though she knew she must hurry if she were to have time to grab the slice of stale bread and cup of weak caf that were all the breakfast the slaves were provided. Her hand drifted to her lips, and touched the echo of his kiss that lingered there. That had been real.

She jumped up, unable to contain the wild energy that filled her. She whirled and snatched her comb, dragged it through her hair, and threw it down. She raced to join the long line of bleary-eyed, grouchy women waiting to use the refresher. She quieted then, holding her excitement close within her. She wished there were someone she could tell, another women she could whisper and giggle with, but the poison Darna had sown had lingered long past her departure, and she had still been unable to find a friend among the other slaves.

Her time working in the kitchens that morning crept more slowly than ever before. As the cold desert dawn gave way to the ever-increasing heat of the day, her excited anticipation flagged, replaced by nervous apprehension. When finally the head cook dismissed them to their own meals with an impatient wave of his hand and an admonition to not be a millisecond late returning or he'd take it out of their hides – with a glare at Shmi, who yesterday had slipped in, sweaty and out of breath, several minutes after the rest of the slaves had resumed their work – she was torn between the urge to hurry to meet Kern and a strange reluctance to face him again. How would things have changed between them? Would their comfortable camaraderie be replaced by awkwardness, embarrassment?

He was already there when she arrived at the dining hall, saving her a place near the head of the line as usual. Their eyes met, and understanding flowed between them. All her tension evaporated as she took her place beside him. His arm encircled her waist and pulled her close to him, and she rested her head on his shoulder a moment before drawing back just a little. "So, Kern, how was your morning?" Their conversation was as easy and light as ever. She hoped no one watching would be able to sense the difference, the sparking tingle of energy that played between and around them, transforming their familiar friendly interactions into a dance.

Just being with him was wonderful, even under the stares of so many watching eyes. She glowed with the joy of it. All her senses seemed heightened; colors shone brighter, the stew smelled delicious and delighted her tongue with rich flavors, the babble of voices around them was rhythmic and musical. Though a distant part of her mind was aware how quickly their meager moments of togetherness were slipping past, most of her consciousness was focused firmly in the present, savoring the time they were given.

Relaxed, unhurried, they disposed of their dishes and made their way through the kitchen and out into the courtyard. Then, as the door closed behind them they turned toward each other, and she was once again where she belonged, in his arms, his kiss sweet on her lips, more glorious even than she had remembered.

She drew him to the farthest corner of the courtyard, behind the garbage pile, even its familiar stench of decay less offensive today than usual. "So," she said, seating herself on a rock, "tell me everything. How are we getting out of here?" She had perfect faith, today, that his plan would work. In the blessed glow of their love for each other, nothing could ever possibly go wrong.

He sat down beside her, catching her enthusiasm. "It will have to be at night. I've been making friends with the guards, asking questions here and there. From midnight to dawn there's only a light watch. We'd have to get past the guard at the entrance to the slave quarters, but the compound should be deserted between there and the garage. Then it would just be getting past the perimeter patrol. The key operates one of the little two-man guard speeders. It's fast; it could take us to Mos Eisley before suns-rise. There were rumors, when I was growing up there, of people who would help runaway slaves. I learned a few of the signs and signals, though I don't know if they'd still be using the same ones. If we're lucky, we could find passage on a ship and be off-world before we're even missed here." He shrugged, diffident. "It's a long shot, I know. But if we could get to Naboo or Alderaan or one of the other Republic planets where slavery is illegal, we could claim asylum, and they wouldn't send us back."

"I think it's a good plan." Shmi spoke confidently, but her heart quailed at the dangers entailed.

"If we're going to do it, it will have to be fairly soon. They've got those new explosive implants now. Jabba doesn't think they're stable enough yet – I heard Gardulla lost three slaves the first week after she had them put in when they triggered spontaneously – but as soon as they come out with an improved model Jabba's sure to have us all fitted with them. I bet within a year or two every slave on Tatooine will have one."

Shmi nodded. She had heard rumors of the new devices, implanted deep within a slave's body, programmed to explode if the slave ventured outside their permitted area. She shuddered. Once Jabba adopted the new technology, escape would be essentially impossible.

"What can I do to help?" She doubted there was much she could do, but she had to try.

"The trickiest part will be getting past the guards. I've found out as much about them as I could. The usual night guard for the slave quarters is Irneeto." Shmi nodded. She'd seen the tall, indigo-furred, three-armed alien before. "He's a Mordantian. They're nocturnal, so they're good at night jobs. I've been stopping by his post most nights, chatting with him, getting to know him. I think he'd be open to a bribe, if it was the right thing. Not money; Jabba pays him well and he's not the type to crave more. But something."

"I'll start talking to him when I can," Shmi promised. "Maybe he'll let something slip. What else?"

"Well, all the perimeter guards are Gamorreans, Ketrell and his gang. They're a tight group. Gamorreans don't trust other species, especially humans. I haven't had any luck with any of them."

"I think I know the ones you're talking about. They eat in the servant's dining hall; I serve them every day. I'll watch them."

Kern nodded. "I think that's all we can do now, watch and wait, look for opportunities, and keep making plans." He stared pensively into the distance. She scooted over and leaned against him, and his arm wrapped around her and drew her close. He smiled at her, and their lips met, and for a long lovely time they explored the delightful intimacy of kissing.

Eventually she drew back with a sigh, and grinned at him. "Come on. The head cook is going to be furious if I'm late again." Hand in hand they hurried into the kitchen and through the corridors, parting with a lingering touch where their paths diverged.

As she served the employees their evening meal that night, she watched for the guards Kern had told her about. There were the Gamorreans, tusks protruding from their long snouts, laughing and joking among themselves, demanding huge portions of food, always remaining in a tight, insular cluster.

Irneeto couldn't have been more of a contrast, as he shuffled in alone just before they stopped serving. He took only a small portion. The bright smile Shmi aimed at the large golden eyes set deep in his furry blue face was completely ignored. He sat alone, downed his meager meal quickly, and was off before Shmi could muster an excuse to venture near his table.

Watching his retreating form, she thoughtfully tucked a few more of the fruits he had chosen into her pocket.

Late that evening, well after suns-set, when she would normally have been crawling into bed in preparation for another early morning and long day, she slipped out to the main entrance to the slave quarters. The heavy metal grate was closed and locked, and Irneeto leaned idly against the wall next to it, eyes wandering back and forth between the right corridor, which led to the women's rooms, and the left corridor, which led to the men's.

He spotted her well before she drew near, his eyes glowing at her with the concentrated reflection of the single dim light that burned beside the gate. She approached him nervously. "Excuse me, sir."

"You should be in your quarters, slave." His voice was bored.

She tried to keep her voice from squeaking. "I know, sir. It's just… you took so little, at supper, that I thought you might get hungry, so I brought you this." Her hand only trembled a little as she extended a fruit for his inspection.

His lazy posture didn't change, but the center of his three arms reached quickly for it. Eyes fixed on her, he sniffed it, then polished it on his fur before sinking his long, sharp teeth into it. He chewed, and swallowed. Only then did a small smile soften his stern features.

"I suppose you want me to let one of the men by, so he can come to your bed. Very well, which one shall it be?"

"Oh, no." Shmi felt herself blushing hotly. _Would he really let Kern pass, if I asked him?_ "That's not it at all. I just wanted to do something nice for you…"

The blue alien made a disbelieving noise, and eyed her sardonically. She looked down, pulled another fruit from her pocket, and held it out to him.

He sighed, exasperated but with a touch of humor, and took the fruit. "Your ploy is transparent, but at least you're observant. If I want to eat at all, I have to get up ridiculously early, and join all those sun-lovers stuffing themselves, when I can barely stomach a few bites. Then at full dark, when I would welcome a hearty meal, there's no food to be had, so I go hungry all the night long, until finally when I can barely keep awake the kitchens are serving again. You chose your bribe well, offering me food. Next time, make it a nice hot bantha steak, and I'll be quite blind when your lover goes by."

"I'll remember that." She backed away, bobbing a curtsy and nodding. When she felt she was far enough away she turned and fled down the corridor, his barking laughter echoing after her.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6 

She edited out the exact nature of Irneeto's offer when she told Kern about her success the next day. Enough for him to know that the alien guard might be willing to be bribed. Though helping them escape was a far more drastic matter than simply facilitating a liaison between slaves that his employer didn't truly wish to prevent. She was sure it would take far more than a few fruits, or even a bantha steak, to secure his cooperation in that.

She hardly dared think of the possibility Irneeto's words had raised in her mind, but she could scarcely think of anything else. A _lover_ was not something she had ever realistically expected to be a part of her life. She had learned about sex, of course. Her mother had answered her questions and given her a basic understanding of the subject when she was a child, before they were separated. As she grew to adolescence she sometimes thought about it with a wistful curiosity. But who could ever want her, plain as she was? Even the lecherous men who sometimes bought young female slaves for pleasure had never looked twice at her. Her life as a slave had never afforded much contact with anyone whom she might develop an attraction for. The casual couplings many of her fellow slaves indulged in held little appeal for her. So she had come to accept that romantic, physical love was something she would have to live without. Just another item added to the list of things that had been taken from her, along with her freedom, her family, her future.

But now all that had changed. Kern loved her, and she him. His kisses woke in her breathless, tumultuous feelings of desire. Suddenly sex was no longer a theoretical idea, but a very real possibility. Someday soon the path she and Kern were traveling might lead there. The idea both entranced and terrified her.

In the days and weeks that followed, they continued to walk that path together, a journey of ever-increasing intimacy. They never spoke of the landmarks they passed, but they shared a wordless understanding of their significance – the day she first laid her head on his chest and listened to his heart's steady rhythm, the day his tongue first touched her lips, asking admittance that was shyly granted, the day her hands first slipped under the edge of his tunic and met the softness of bare skin. She understood now the destination their road was leading them inevitably toward, and day by day her apprehension gave way to openness, then eagerness, then a fierce, aching longing.

Eventually they came together to the place where Shmi knew they could go no farther without crossing the final boundary into the realm of lovers. She waited, sure he would ask, in words or in actions, and she could whisper her secret knowledge of how to make it possible.

But he didn't. Days passed, and weeks, and he quietly and stubbornly refused to take that final step. Always he would go to a certain point, but no farther. At first Shmi didn't understand, but as her body screamed with frustration, she realized that for some inexplicable reason he intended to hold their relationship here.

Finally she dared break the silence. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and buried her face in his chest, not able to meet his eyes. "Kern, I want… I want… to love you… for you to love me…"

Gently but firmly he pulled away, laying his hand against her lips to shush her. "Wait. When we're free."

She stared at him. They had made hardly any progress in their escape plan. It might be years, yet, before their chance for freedom came. She could not, would not, wait that long, not when there was a way for them to be together here and now.

She chose her time carefully. In the servant's kitchen that day they were serving roast bantha. It had been cooking for three days in the enormous oven, the rich scent permeating all the corners of the compound. When she was sure no one was watching she slipped three thick slices between two pieces of bread and tucked them into her pocket.

It wasn't her day for the weekly bath each of the slave women was allotted, but there was a Rodian who would sometimes trade her turn, claiming too frequent washing dried her skin. She agreed to accept one of the slices of bantha meat, and Shmi made careful use of the tiny bit of water and soap provided, scrubbing herself as clean as she'd ever been. Another slice went to the laundry slave who'd replaced Darna in exchange for a clean tunic.

She waited in her alcove, combing out her long hair until it was dry, letting it hang loose instead of twisting it into the knot she usually wore, arranging it around her face with trembling fingers. The time until lights-out dragged unbearably long, but eventually the signal was given and darkness and quiet fell over the slave quarters. She waited a bit longer, unsure if she dared actually go through with it, but when the star she'd chosen became visible through her tiny grated window, telling her the hour must be near midnight, she summoned all her courage, picked up the last slice of roast bantha and the bread, and made her way to Irneeto's guard post.

He smiled when he saw her approaching, for she had made it a habit to bring him food often, never asking anything in return. Until now.

Her hands shook as she held out the meat and bread. "It's not a steak, exactly, and it's cold, but it's the best I could do. You said… you would…"

Irneeto smiled as he accepted the offered food. "I'm happy for you, furling. Of course I'll let him by. Just tell me who."

She took a deep breath. "No. Please, let me past. Tell me where Kern's alcove is."

His eyes widened. "Are you sure? It's not safe down there for a little furling like you. Kern's a good man, but there's not many like him, and plenty that wouldn't hesitate to hurt you, if they found you alone."

"I'm sure. Please, just tell me where to go." She hadn't considered that there might be actual danger for her, but she wasn't going to let that stop her now.

He shook his head doubtfully, but relented when he saw her determination. "All right. Fifth corridor, third alcove on the left. Just be careful."

"I will," she promised, elated. She ignored his worried frown as she slipped past, down the left-hand corridor, into unknown territory.

Her steps slowed and faltered, uncertain in the darkness. But the men's quarters were laid out according to the same pattern as the women's, and she soon found her way, silently counting the side corridors as she passed. Soon she was at the fifth, and moments later she stood before the curtain of Kern's alcove.

She hesitated a moment. She could still turn back… But no. She pushed aside the curtain and slipped inside.

She worried at first how she would know if she'd found the right place, but then his familiar scent greeted her, metal and oil and warm masculine sweat, and she could see his tousled blonde hair lit by starlight above the coarse bantha-wool blanket. She slipped off her outer tunic and hung it beside his. Clad only in her thin sleep-shift, she slid onto the narrow bed beside him.

For a moment she simply savored the delicious feel of his body pressed all along the length of hers. Then she stroked the plane of his cheek, rough with stubble. "Kern, wake up," she whispered.

Eyes still closed, he turned to her, arms reaching to encircle her. Shmi leaned in to kiss him. Joy filled her, as much just for the prospect of all the long unhurried hours of the night spent together as for anticipation of their bodies' pleasure.

"Shmi," he murmured against her lips, eyes still tightly closed, hands roaming her body. She moaned in reply and pressed herself closer to him.

Suddenly he stiffened, and his eyes flew open. "Shmi!" He sat up, staring at her. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

She giggled at his astonished expression. "I bribed Irneeto to let me by, and to tell me where you sleep." She sat up and shook her hair in what she hoped was an alluring gesture. "Isn't this wonderful? We can be together all night!"

"And he _let_ you? What was he thinking?" He grabbed her upper arms and shook her, furious. "Do you have any idea how dangerous it is for you to be here?"

She stared at him, astonished and hurt. "You're not glad I came?"

"No!" His kept his voice low, but he was shouting. He pushed her aside and swung out of bed. Grabbing their tunics, he threw hers at her and thrust his arms into his own. "Put that back on. We've got to get you out of here. I just hope no one's heard you."

Angry tears blurred Shmi's vision as she struggled into her tunic. She barely had both arms in when he grabbed her wrist and dragged her from the alcove. He paused only to carefully check both directions before he pulled her through the curtain and down the corridor.

As they approached Irneeto's guard post he finally slowed, and she caught her breath enough to speak. "Come back with me, then, to my bed. It's safe there. I know the other girls do it, all the time…"

"No." His voice was hard with resolve. She couldn't see his face in the darkness, but his grip on her arms was almost painful. "I can't do this anymore, Shmi. I can't."

Desolation gripped her harder than his hands on her arms. "You don't want me."

"You can believe that if you want to."

"What else am I supposed to think? I thought you would be glad, I thought we would… I thought you loved me!"

She could barely see his face in the darkness of the corridor, but she thought his eyes closed, lines of pain etched there. But when he spoke, his voice was cold. "I can't see you any more, Shmi."

"What? You can't mean… What about our plan to escape?"

"Keep your voice down! It was never going to work, Shmi. Don't you see? It was just an impossible dream, a game to make life here a little more bearable, to try and pretend there was something to hope for… But I can't keep pretending any more, Shmi. I can't."

He released her, and she stepped back, staring at him through her tears. Could this really be her Kern speaking? Had she ever really known him at all?

"Go back to bed Shmi. Get some sleep. We have to work hard tomorrow. Because we're slaves, Shmi, and that's what slaves do. And we'll never be anything else."

She shook her head in denial, then rallied and tried one more time. "Even if you've given up hope, even as slaves we can love each other…"

"And make ourselves Jabba's livestock, too, and breed lots of little slave children for his profit?" His voice was like ice. Without giving her a chance to respond, he grabbed her hand and dragged her on to Irneeto's post.

Seeing them coming the tall blue alien sprang to attention and put his hand on his weapon. He eyed Shmi's tears and Kern's cold demeanor warily.

"I don't know what she told you, Irneeto, but you shouldn't have let her pass. Don't do it again." He thrust her away from him, and she stumbled backwards to the entrance of the women's quarters.

"He didn't hurt you, did he, furling?" Irneeto studied her, worried.

She shook her head mutely, starting at Kern, unable to comprehend how all her hopes and dreams had been reduced to this utter wreckage. He returned her gaze for a moment, and then turned away.

She turned and fled, back to the lonely safety of her alcove, her cold and empty bed receiving her. She buried herself under the covers, hiding her head in her arms and sobbing in grief and anger and despair far into the night, until finally she fell into an exhausted sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Next morning she dragged herself from bed in a dull fog. She wished she could believe the night before had been nothing but a nightmare, but she knew better. She went through the motions of her work automatically, without thought.

When meal break was called, she hung back, reluctant. She would rather just avoid the slave's mess hall altogether, but hunger gnawed at her belly. She fell in at the very end of the line, trying not to look, but her eyes sought the head of the line almost of their own accord.

There he was, accepting his bowl from the server. He didn't look around as he approached the tables.

From a table crowded with men and women, a call went up. "Hey Kern! Come sit with us." He nodded and went to join them, seating himself between two women who had hastily scooted aside to make room. At first he was quiet, but soon his voice joined the babble of chatter and laughter.

Shmi stumbled forward, nudged by the people behind her in line, eyes blurred with tears. It truly was over. She took her bowl to the furthest corner of the hall and ate in solitude, forcing down food gone dry and tasteless in her mouth. After she finished she deposited her bowl with the dirty dishes, habitually keeping her cup with its last few drops of water.

She took one step toward the kitchen door, and then looked down at the cup in her hand. She bit her lip and clenched her free hand into a fist. Slowly, deliberately, she brought the cup to her lips and drained it dry. Her hand shaking, she threw the cup down among the dirty dishes, turned, and walked with heavy steps back to her workplace.

The days that followed were bleaker than Shmi had ever imagined possible. Angry fantasies of confronting him, slapping him, spitting in his drink, tearing up their patch of flowers and throwing them in his face, alternated with darker visions of slipping into his alcove to cut his throat and then her own, finding some poison to put in his bowl or hers, making a doomed break for freedom so the guards would blast her into oblivion. But in the end she did nothing, for she could not truly will any harm to him, and though in her despair her life often seemed worthless, Kern had sensed truly that her will to live, like that of the desert flower, was strong, and she could not easily surrender it.

So, in spite of herself, she adjusted. On the rare occasion when she could not avoid him, she looked past him without seeing, and he did the same to her. Her heart ached with emptiness, and she felt like only half herself, but work was always there, and sleep, and there was little enough time apart from those two occupations to worry about filling.

She still brought Irneeto nightly tidbits, for his was the only friendly face left to her. He accepted them graciously, and chatted with her about inconsequential things, and was kind to her, which she appreciated deeply.

One evening a tart, briny smell permeated the corridors of the compound. When Shmi came to bring Irneeto her offering, she was surprised to find him pacing restlessly, pausing occasionally to breathe deeply, then blowing out his breath, shaking his head, and returning to his agitated prowl.

He took her food with a nod of thanks, but she could tell he was still distracted. He gazed down the corridor longingly, and then turned to her.

"Do you smell that?" He seemed reluctant to speak, but she felt he needed to talk to someone.

"Yes. I was wondering about it. Do you know what it is?"

"Oh, yes." His voice was sharp with bitter amusement. "That's the smell of pickled praanto eggs. They come from Mordant, my homeworld. Every spring the praanto migrate to the tops of the highest mountains to spawn. The eggs are harvested, and preserved in sea salt and plinda-berry wine, with herbs that only grow on a certain island." His voice had softened, and his eyes were far away. "They have a mild hallucinogenic effect. I grew up eating praanto eggs every three-moon-night and dark-night. They say once you taste praanto dreams you never loose the craving."

He shook his head and grinned wryly at her. "They are sacred to the moon-goddesses, so they're never exported, which I knew very well when I left Mordant. But Jabba has a private supply smuggled out. He takes it as a challenge, you know, to obtain that which is unobtainable. He likes to serve them to his most honored guests. And every time he does, I have to smell them, and be reminded of what I cannot have."

Shmi caught her breath at the naked longing in his voice. "Don't you have them when you visit your home?"

His grin grew very strained. "No, furling. My leaving Mordant was… not entirely voluntary. Circumstances would have to change a great deal for me to be able to go back. I doubt that will ever happen."

"Can't you ask Jabba…"

He snorted, a mirthless, cynical sound. "I tried to buy some, the first time I found out he had them. I would have paid all my savings. When he refused, I offered to work a year at half pay. Ten years." His eyes dropped, and his voice lowered. "I offered to sell myself to him as a slave, in exchange for a single case. He just laughed."

Shmi stared at him. He made a self-conscious shrugging gesture that involved all three arms. "No matter. But if I seem a bit distracted tonight, now you know why."

Shmi nodded. There was nothing she could say. But before she left, she reached out tentatively and patted one furry blue arm. He smiled and shooed her off to her quarters.

Months passed. Shmi settled into an attitude of calm. Not depressed, but not happy either, focusing only on the present moment, working, sleeping, thinking as little as possible. She supposed she might spend the rest of her life this way, but dismissed the thought as soon as it occurred. She would not think of the future or the past.

Until one day her peace was shattered. She was dishing out spoonfuls of vegetables to the servants and employees who shuffled past, when the large Gamorrean guard, Ketrell, and his group of friends approached. She had never quite lost the habit of paying particular attention to them, so her ears picked up their agitated conversation even before its significance registered.

"… no, Ploddle's so stupid he wouldn't know a six-card orbit from a hole in his head."

Coarse laughter greeted that remark.

"Curse Borq anyway for getting himself blasted and leaving us one short of a seven." A chorus of enthusiastic voices denounced the unfortunate Borq's ancestry and personal habits, and described his desired fate in vivid language. Shmi ducked her head and blushed.

"And there's no one else in the whole compound knows sabaac well enough to be worth taking their money…"

Without thinking, Shmi spoke. "Kern plays sabaac."

The huge tusked aliens stared at her.

"Kern Bluesand." His name was strange in her mouth. She shrank from their gaze, wishing could sink into the ground and vanish, but their eyes fixed on her compelled her to continue. "The head mechanic in the garage. He's good at sabaac."

Ketrell spit contemptuously to the side. "That human scum?"

She put all her effort into a shrug she hoped looked casual, but feared looked as terrified as she felt. "Just thought you'd like to know. Though if you'd rather play with six…"

Ketrell accepted her scoop of vegetable on his plate and turned away. "A slave's got nothing to wager."

One of his cronies hurried after him, almost slopping the vegetables Shmi aimed at his plate as he passed. "But Ketrell, six is no good, you know that. We could float him a loan to start out…"

"Shut up." But Shmi could see that neither he nor the other four Gamorreans who followed would be quiet for long. As they followed Ketrell to their table their voices were already raised, badgering him to include Kern in their game.

Shmi turned back to her work, tears blurring her eyes. Why had she bothered? Kern had given up trying to escape, hadn't he? He shouldn't care anymore about finding a way to avoid the perimeter guards. But what was done, was done. She just hoped they never mentioned to Kern who had suggested they ask him.

They must not have, for on the rare occasions she saw him nothing in his manner toward her had changed.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

A few weeks later, the head cook stormed into the servant's kitchen, highly agitated. It was evening, only a short time before the slaves would be dismissed for the night, and Shmi was busy grinding spices for the next day's meal. She shrank back, hoping to avoid the head cook's gaze, but it was useless.

"You, you and… you!" His finger pointed straight at Shmi. Sighing, she set down her mortar and pestle. "Jabba's entertaining important guests tonight, and we're short-handed. Follow me."

Shmi and the other two chosen slaves trailed behind him. Shmi groaned inwardly at the prospect of working many hours past her usual allotted time, but at the same time curiosity prickled. She had never actually seen the notorious Hutt who owned her before.

The head cook led them past a guard station and into an unfamiliar part of the compound. The wave of delicious smells that greeted them as they entered the frantic bustle of Jabba's kitchen set Shmi's mouth watering. Everywhere slaves and servants were hard at work on dozens of fabulous dishes destined for the Hutt and his guests.

One of the cooks claimed Shmi, and she was set to work piping whipped mousse into hundreds of tiny pastry shells. When those were finished she was assigned the task of polishing all the shiny metal platters on which the food would be served. Then she spent an hour lining bowls with imported Tiranian rose petals and scooping perfectly spherical balls of fruit ice into them. By the time she was called on to carry out a giant basket of soft, fluffy rolls to the main table, her feet and back ached with weariness.

Still, her eyes widened as she entered the hall where Jabba entertained his guests. The plundered treasures of a hundred alien cultures gaudily decorated every surface. Musicians at the far end of the hall played a sultry melody for the dancers who gyrated seductively. Shmi recognized Marishelle and several other slaves. She stood, transfixed, watching them, as the music and the dance drew to a passionate climax, and those watching burst into applause. Humans and aliens of every description ringed the long table that stretched down the middle of the hall. At its head an enormous couch supported a huge, slug-like creature, who Shmi realized with revulsion must be Jabba himself.

A poke from the server behind her sent her hurrying to distribute the bread to each place around the table. She quailed as she approached the Hutt, but he ignored her as completely as the sand flies buzzing around his head as she placed the roll on his plate. Her basket empty, she retreated to the kitchen and was burdened with a heavy platter bearing the next course.

A seemingly endless parade of delicacies passed from the kitchen out to the table to be devoured. Loud, crude conversation and raucous laughter punctuated the blaring music, until Shmi's head ached and she longed to be done.

Eventually, the meal seemed to be drawing to a close. The guests leaned back in their chairs, patting sated bellies and belching. Shmi was set to gathering the seemingly endless piles of dirty dishes and returning them to the kitchen to be washed.

Jabba called on a servant to bring forth a series of elaborately decorated containers, and began producing various items for his guests' pleasure. A haze of exotically scented smokes soon clouded the air, and assorted gem-colored liquids stained eager lips. But Shmi paid little attention, absorbed in her own task, until a familiar sour, salty odor struck her.

Jabba was waving one disproportionately tiny hand toward where his servant had just removed the lid of a beautiful carved crystal jar. Shmi strove to understand his guttural rumble. She had heard that, though he understood Basic perfectly well, Jabba refused to speak anything but his native Huttese. The language was common on Tatooine, and Shmi spoke it, but not nearly as well as the Basic that was used by the slaves.

"Praanto eggs." The Hutt's wide mouth stretched into a grin, his enormous tongue coming out to lick his lips. "Straight from Mordant. Nowhere else in the Galaxy will you be served this delicacy."

A short, green skinned humanoid seated near where Shmi was stacking a pile of dirty plates snorted in disgust. "Smells more like praanto droppings, if you ask me." Those around him erupted in laughter. "Come, Jabba, you don't expect us to eat that _poodoo_, do you?"

The laughter rapidly stilled as Jabba drew himself up on his couch, bulbous eyes fixed on the speaker. "You are a guest at my table, Trontig." A flick of his tail tip sent two armed guards to stand behind the petulant guest. "You will partake in what I offer." He snapped. The servant beside him, with shaking hands, dipped out a generous portion of the praanto eggs into a shallow bowl. Eyes fixed on Trontig, Jabba gestured, and the servant piled still more into the bowl, until it almost overflowed. A short barked order, and the servant carried the bowl carefully and set it in front of Trontig, then melted rapidly back into the shadows.

Shmi stared, fascinated, at the mound of quivering eggs. This close, the smell was overpowering. Soft blue translucent spheres dripped with purple syrup. Within each, Shmi could just glimpse the shadowy shape of a half-formed embryo.

Trontig glowered at Jabba, but the guards crowded close on either side of him. His green face screwed into an expression of disgust, he sullenly picked up a spoon and sought to capture one of the slippery eggs. After a moment he succeeded, and raised it reluctantly to his lips.

The room had grown so still Shmi could hear the pop as he bit down on the egg and it burst in his mouth. His eyes bulged, and his face faded to a sickly yellow. The he could contain himself no more.

"Pah!" he roared, spitting the offending substance into the startled face of his neighbor. "Jabba, you're trying to poison me!" With one hand he drew his blaster, while with the other he swept the bowl off the table, sending it crashing to the floor, spilling its contents in a bright flood across the carpet.

Blaster fire erupted. Shmi dropped to the floor, cowering away from the wildly ricocheting bolts of energy. She crawled toward the refuge of the space under the table, but it was already crowded with many of Jabba's guests. She huddled beneath an overturned chair, looking longingly toward the kitchen door.

Between her and the door, the spilled praanto eggs spread in a turquoise and violet puddle. She gaped at them for a moment, and then glanced around. In the chaos – Trontig was scrambling toward Jabba, who was roaring in fury, while half a dozen other guests had drawn blasters and were exchanging fire – no one was paying the least attention to her.

She scuttled across the floor and began scooping the eggs into her apron pockets. She worked feverishly, sure at any moment a blaster bolt would burn into her unprotected back. When the last of the precious globes had been safely stowed away, she made a break for the kitchen door. She heard a twanging scream and felt a rush of heat across her shoulder blades as a blaster bolt just missed her, burning into the wall next to the doorframe as she burst through the archway and slammed the heavy door behind her.

In the relative safety of the kitchen she stopped, heart pounding, gasping for breath. She glanced guiltily down at her apron, where a spreading purple stain marked the path of the leaking syrup, and nervously wiped her sticky fingers on her tunic, leaving further purple streaks. She looked around, sure she would be discovered, but the kitchen was deserted, everyone else having fled when the blasting started.

Behind her the racket gave no sign of abating. If she worked quickly, she might yet get away with her theft.

She rummaged in the cabinets until she found an empty jar and lid. She transferred the praanto eggs carefully into this container and closed it tight. At the sink where the dishes were washed she painstakingly rinsed every trace of purple from her apron and hands. She wrung out the apron as best she could, knowing the rest of the water would quickly evaporate in Tatooine's dry atmosphere. She wrapped the clean apron around herself again, where it flopped damply, concealing the purple stains left on her tunic. Those she could wash off later, before she turned the tunic over to the laundry.

Just as the noise from the hall started to die down, she finished. She dared open the door a crack and peek through. Trontig's body, along with that of one of the guards, was being borne away. She couldn't help a pang of regret that Jabba seemed to be uninjured.

She slipped unnoticed through the corridors, ignored by guards racing toward the scene of the conflict, and fellow slaves and servants scrambling away. Though it was past the hour when he usually began his night watch, Irneeto was absent from the entrance to the slave quarters. She fled to her alcove, pulled the curtain closed, and collapsed on her bed, the jar of praanto eggs clutched close to her heart.

For a while, as her gasping breaths quieted and her racing heart gradually slowed, all she could think about was the danger she had faced and the narrowness of her escape. But eventually she calmed, and sat up, cradling the jar in her lap.

She stared at it for a long moment, and then started to laugh. She had risked her life for these stinking balls of goo, and for what? Once they might have represented the price of her freedom, for she was sure Irneeto would gladly help her escape in return for these. But without Kern and his speeder key, and some path past the Gamorrean guards, she would be just as trapped outside the slave quarters as within them. So all her danger and reckless daring had been for nothing. Her bitter laughter turned to sobs, releasing all the tensions and frustrations of the day.

Eventually she stilled, and listened to the noises coming from outside her alcove. Agitated voices chattered and quick footsteps echoed. She heard Irneeto's voice bellowing, harrying excited slaves back to their beds. Finally, much later than usual, the harsh klaxon sounded and all the lights were extinguished.

Shmi lay, feeling the cool curve of the glass in her hands. There was nowhere safe she could hide it. Anywhere in her alcove would be vulnerable to the periodic random searches. No matter that if she hadn't salvaged the eggs they would surely have been swept into the trash. If they were discovered in her possession, she would be considered guilty of the most heinous of larceny, and she would be lucky if a quick execution was the worst of her fate.

As the stars slowly tracked across her tiny window, she considered what she should do, and by midnight she had decided. She rose and slipped out into the corridor, and made her way to Irneeto's guard post.

He was pacing again. He turned to her as she approached, nostrils widening.

"You smell like praanto." His voice was wistful, even a bit accusatory.

"I was in Jabba's hall when everything happened. You heard, I guess, that it was praanto eggs that started it all." She thrust the jar toward him. "Here. For you. These spilled, and I knew you would want them, so I picked them up."

For a moment Irneeto just stared at the jar she held out. Then slowly all three arms reached for it, the center hand cradling it and the two outer hands encircling it protectively. He brought it to his face, and his hand trembled as he unscrewed the lid. His eyes grew huge and round, yellow discs reflecting the faint light, and then closed as he breathed in deep draughts of the briny scent.

After a long while, his eyes opened again, and he lowered the jar. His voice shook, thick with wonder and incredulous joy. "Furling… I don't know what to say… how to thank you…"

"You're welcome." Unexpectedly, Shmi felt a grin split her own face. "Just enjoy them. That will be thanks enough."

Two hands continued to clutch his treasure, but one reached out and gripped Shmi's shoulder, gentle but firm. "Anything I can do for you, furling, anything within my power, just ask and it's yours. I'd let you walk out of here right now, but I wouldn't be able to get you past the other guards. I'd buy you myself and free you, but I don't have a tenth of what it would cost…"

"Hush." Shmi swallowed the lump of bittersweet irony in her throat. "I may take you up on that offer someday. Until then, don't worry about it."

"All right. But I mean it. Remember." He withdrew his arm, and from the jar extracted one quivering globe. He bowed his head over it, murmuring in a guttural alien language what Shmi could only suppose was a prayer. He lifted it reverently to his lips, which parted to receive it, and across his face spread an expression of bliss such as Shmi had never seen on any living being.

At length a long sigh escaped him. Opening his eyes, he smiled at Shmi and held the jar out to her. "Would you like to try one?"

"On no." Shmi stepped back from the powerful stench suddenly wafting her way. She felt quite sure, were she to taste one of the eggs, her face would more closely mirror Trontig's revulsion than Irneeto's rapture. "I'm sure I wouldn't appreciate them nearly as much as you will. Enjoy your evening, and I'll see you in the morning."

"I will." Irneeto's voice was soft and dreamy. "See you…" He backed up to the wall and slid down it to a seated position on the floor.

Shmi returned to her bed, suffused with gladness. Even though she would probably never have the occasion to take Irneeto up on his offer, still the effort and risk had most certainly been worthwhile.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

The glow of satisfaction stayed with her all the next day, until that afternoon, as she was waiting patiently in line for her meal, her eyes fell on Kern, taking his place at a table, and she abruptly realized that she must tell him. Awkward and uncomfortable as it would be, it was Kern who had first led her to befriend Irneeto. Someday he might discover a way to evade the perimeter guards. She had no right to stand between him and freedom, when a word from her could open the door. Even if she had never loved him, as a fellow slave she owed him at least that much.

She shrank from the thought, and tried to deny responsibility to herself, for she dreaded the thought of facing him, and her mouth felt dry and sticky when she tried to imagine forming the words to tell him. She stayed far away from him that mealtime, and debated all the rest of the day and through the night. As the next day's meal approached, she yearned to be able to avoid the encounter. But she knew she had no real choice.

Her steps dragged as she approached the mess hall. She was late, as had become her habit, so she could wait at the very end of the line and avoid his position near the front. But today she resolved to seek him out first, as soon as he had gotten his meal. She bit her lip and clenched her hands into fists as she entered the room, eyes scanning the tables for him.

He wasn't there. She looked toward the kitchen, but the first dozen people had already received their food and were making their way to their seats. He was not among them, nor farther back in the line. She turned to scan the room again.

"Shmi."

She jumped, and turned, and he was there, warm and solid and so familiar her throat ached. She swallowed. "Kern."

"I need to talk to you, Shmi. Would you mind if I sat with you today?"

"I don't mind." Her voice sounded flat and cold in her ears. "Actually, I need to speak with you also. Later. In private."

"Yes. In private." He fell in beside her and together they made their way to the end of the line. They had stood and waited together just like this so many times before. Shmi longed to throw herself into his arms, to fall at his feet and beg forgiveness, to wash away all the coldness between them in one wild rush of heat.

But it was he who owed her the apology, he who had said he loved her then refused her love in return, he who had thrown her from him like so much garbage. The shame of that rejection still burned like a live coal in the pit of her stomach. So she stood beside him, and shuffled forward as the line advanced, and replied in polite monosyllables to each venture he made at conversation.

But Kern persisted. "How have you been doing lately, Shmi?"

"Fine."

"What about your work in the kitchen? Cooked anything particularly interesting lately?"

"No."

"The garage has been busy. Jabba's decided he wants a big pleasure vehicle, some sort of sail barge, and he's put me in charge of the project. I've been checking out all the various suppliers, but I think we're going to have to get it custom built. It's going to be ridiculously expensive, because all the parts will have to be shipped in from offworld. Of course, I think that's why Jabba wants it to begin with."

"That's nice."

"So, what did you think of the big commotion the other night? I heard one of Jabba's guests tried to blast him. Too bad he didn't succeed, huh?"

Despite her determination to remain taciturn, she couldn't resist responding. "I was there."

"You were? What really happened?"

His eyes were alight with such sincere curiosity that it was just like old times, when they'd share the gossip and stories of the compound with each other. Shmi found herself telling him the whole tale, her voice growing warm and animated, as they received their food and took their places at a table.

"So then Trontig pulled out his blaster and started waving it around, and knocked the bowl of praanto eggs onto the floor…" Shmi faltered in her enthusiastic telling. "Actually, that's part of what I have to tell you about, later…"

Kern looked puzzled, but nodded. "All right. What happened then?"

"Well, I ducked, and hid under a chair, so I couldn't see much. But there was lots of shooting, and Trontig got blasted, though not until after he killed one of the guards."

Kern' face tightened, and he turned away. "You must have been terrified."

Shmi scowled in annoyance at the back of his head. Why should he be afraid for her? He had forfeited any right to act as her protector. Not that she needed anyone to protect her. Still, she couldn't help but shudder as she remembered the scorching sizzle of energy bare centimeters from her shoulders. "A little, I guess. It was all over so fast." She stuffed the last bite of her meal into her mouth. "Let's go."

Without waiting to see if he followed, she disposed of her dishes and headed through the kitchen to the courtyard door. She hesitated a moment. She didn't really want to see it if the patch of flowers had withered and died without her tending. But she squared her shoulders and stepped resolutely out. They were nothing but a few worthless weeds, after all.

Still her heart leapt when her eyes, drawn irresistibly to the corner of the wall, caught a glimpse of green starred with white, and she moved to stand looking down at them. They had survived, even spread a bit. Unexpected tears stung her eyes, and she brushed them impatiently away.

Kern came to stand beside her, and they looked down together at the flowers nodding in the hot breeze. "I bring them water every now and then."

"Oh." She didn't dare look at him. "I'm glad."

The silence stretched between them. Shmi steeled her heart. The minutes were passing quickly. She forced herself to face him, striving to keep her face and voice emotionless. "What did you need to talk to me about?"

He matched her businesslike manner. "I've been playing sabaac with Ketrell and the other guards. You know I told you a full game of sabaac goes a hundred and three rounds. The stakes get higher with every round. This game, I've been winning. If I risk enough, every round, and my luck holds, by the last round I'll have enough to stake against freedom." He took a deep breath. "Our freedom, Shmi. I can't leave you behind, if you want to come. No strings attached. Once we're offworld, we can go our separate ways. You don't owe me anything. But I was wrong, when I told you it was hopeless. I still don't know how we'll get out of the slave quarters; maybe we can hide out here until after lights-out, though they'll miss us and search…"

Shmi stared at him, her breathing growing shallower and more rapid as he spoke. The impossible had suddenly become excitingly, terrifyingly, possible, and her mind reeled with the shock of it. By the time he trailed away, eyes pleading with her for understanding, a smile had dawned on her lips, and it grew into a broad, silly grin at the confusion on his face. The words tumbled out in a wild rush.

"Irneeto will let us go, that's what I had to tell you. The praanto eggs, they're from his homeworld, they're some kind of drug. I grabbed some after they spilled and gave them to him, he promised me anything in his power…" She bounced, hugging herself, unable to contain the excitement that boiled within her. "Kern, this is really it, we can really escape. I never thought it would actually happen, but everything is coming together…" She laughed as she saw the same wonder she felt begin to grow in his eyes. "Oh, Kern, how could you ever think I might not want to go with you? Oh, Kern, I want… I want…" Her hands were reaching for him, but she stopped, and stepped back, hands falling limp at her sides, joy draining away into fear. Perhaps it was nothing more than duty that motivated him, after all. _No strings attached_, he had said. _Go our separate ways._

He closed the distance between them with a quick, strong step, and clasped her hands in his. "I'm sorry, Shmi. I'm so very sorry. For what I did, what I said…. I've never stopped loving you. You have every right to hate me, and if you do, I understand, and my offer still stands. But all I really want is for us to be together again…"

It was as if the world stretched and distorted in Shmi's perceptions into a surreal blur. This couldn't be real, could it? The precise words she had so longed to hear him say, the delicious warm tingle of his hands on hers – surely it must be a dream. Any second now she'd wake to the cold loneliness of her bed. But she did not wake, and the moment stretched taut as she gazed into the hurt vulnerability of his pleading eyes.

She decided quite abruptly that if it were only a dream, at least she would make the most of it for as long as it lasted. She threw herself into his arms, sobbing, laughing, and they closed around her as if they had never been anywhere else. Only then could she let herself start to believe that she was not dreaming, that this was real.

Finally she could speak. "Why, Kern?" Her voice was muffled, her face pressed into the warm roughness of his tunic. "If you still loved me, why did you end it?"

His voice was low and ragged in her ear. "I was so stupid. I should never have believed it."

A chill touched her, and she drew back. "Believed what?"

His eyes dropped. "That redhead who used to work in the laundry, what was her name…"

The chill deepened. "Darna."

"Yes, her. She was delivering the clean tunics to the men's quarters one day, way back when we were just getting to know each other, and she pulled me aside. She said she had noticed I was spending a lot of time with you, and she wanted to warn me."

"Warn you? About me?" Shmi wasn't cold anymore. Hot rage was beginning to bubble up inside her.

"I told you I was stupid to believe her. She said she'd met you at Rinadda the Hutt's compound, that you bragged to her how you'd seduce men and get pregnant, so you could get out of work. It was ridiculous, I knew you were nothing like that, but it kept nagging in the back of my mind. And then you said you wanted… and you showed up in my bed…"

"That lying little…" Fury seethed in Shmi. Her voice rose. "_She_ did that! _She_ bragged to _me_! That's why she hates me, because I was horrified." Angry tears started in her eyes. "How could you _think_ such a thing of me? I swear, I've never touched another man, you're the first I've ever wanted that way…"

"I know, I know, I believe you. I only thought it might be true for a moment, but then it was too late, and I told myself it was better that way. I convinced myself there was no hope. Because I knew I wouldn't be able to keep denying you, and it wouldn't be fair to you if I did, and I couldn't…. Shmi, do you remember when I told you about my father?"

She nodded, scrubbing the tears from her eyes. She searched his face, wondering what his father had to do with her.

"As soon as I was old enough to understand about men and women, and sex, and children, I understood what he had done to my mother, and to me, and to… He used my mother, Shmi, for his own selfish pleasure, and when I was born I was nothing to him but more property. He might as well have been breeding eopies, for all we meant to him." He faltered, and looked away for a moment. He reached to clasp her hands again, and stared down at them.

"I've never told anyone about this before. But I think you deserve to know. It doesn't excuse the fact that I hurt you, but maybe it will help you understand a little better why I reacted the way I did." He took a deep breath. "I had a younger sister. Nara. She was beautiful. Much too beautiful. Mother tried to hide it, but our father would buy her fancy clothes and show her off to his friends. She liked the attention. I was jealous that she was so pampered. How could I understand what he was doing? I was fifteen, Nara was only thirteen, when it happened. Father valued her, all right. He knew exactly how much she was worth. A man finally was willing to meet the exorbitant price he set for her. Nara was so excited – he had a fast, luxurious spaceship, flashy clothes, a home on a beautiful planet far away."

He stole a glance up at Shmi's eyes, and then looked down again. His grip tightened painfully on her fingers, and his voice lowered until she had to strain to hear him. "A week after he bought her, she managed to get away from him, and came to me at the shop where I was apprenticed. She fell into my arms, and cried, and told me what he'd done to her – unspeakable things. I said we should go to Father, and tell him everything, so he would rescind the deal and bring her home. She agreed, but she begged me for a weapon – to protect herself, I thought. So I stole a plasma welder and gave it to her. Then I took her home."

Kern's eyes rose to meet Shmi's, willing her to understand. "And that man who called himself our father listened to everything Nara told him, and looked down at her where she knelt at his feet, begging him to help her, and he called his guards and had them drag her off, and deliver her back to her buyer. When I tried to stop them, he ordered them to hold me back. I was helpless, watching her being carried away, crying and screaming for me to help her."

His eyes fell again, his hands limp in Shmi's. His voice, which had risen in outrage, dropped again to a whisper. "They found her body the next morning. She had cut her throat with the welder I gave her."

Shmi stared at him in horror. "Oh, Kern…"

He shrugged. "It was a long time ago. I learned to deal with it. I don't think of Nara very often anymore. But that was the day I first truly understood what it means to be a slave, and I've never forgotten." He shook his head and raised his eyes again to hers. "So I swore to myself that I would never do to any child what he did to her, and to me. I would never use a woman like he used my mother, like he allowed my sister to be used. I would never risk creating a child who would be doomed to a life of slavery." His face and voice dropped again, so Shmi barely caught his next words. "I would never again risk loving someone I couldn't protect…"

Again his eyes met hers, and he attempted a crooked smile. "Even if that meant I would be alone my whole life. And then I met you, Shmi, and everything that had seemed so simple got complicated, and I didn't know anymore what was right and what was wrong…"

Suddenly so much about him that had been a mystery to Shmi was made plain. "Why didn't you tell me all this before? I would have understood. I would have agreed with you, even."

He ran his hand across his forehead. "I should have," he admitted. "I should have trusted you that much. But I was ashamed, and confused, and I didn't trust myself…. Can you forgive me, Shmi?"

The anger and hurt were slipping away, because now she understood why he had rejected her, and a warm glow of joy was dawning again in her heart, because they were together again, despite everything, and she would never let him go again. "Of course I forgive you." She ran her hand along the planes of his cheek, and down to his neck, feeling the hard muscle of his shoulder under his soft, warm skin. With a wrenching sense of disappointment she drew her hand back, and looked down. "Can you forgive me, for pressuring you? I know you're right. I would never want a child of mine to be a slave, either. It would be stupid to risk pregnancy. I never even thought of it that way. I just wanted you so much. But I'm willing to wait, until we're free, if that's what you want."

He cupped her chin in his hand and tilted her face up until her eyes met his. "No." His eyes blazed with desire, boring into hers. "I want to love you, Shmi, body and soul. I don't want to wait. I want to make love to you. If you'll have me."

Her heart raced and her head swam. "Oh, yes," she whispered.

"And if our love is blessed with a child, so be it."

Shmi nodded, unable to speak.

"Everything is coming together for us, Shmi. First Ketrell asks me to join their seven – I still don't know how he knew I played –"

"I told him. After one of them got killed, I overheard them complaining, and I told them. I never guessed it could work out this way, though."

His arms tightened around her. "How could you? And then the one thing in the universe Irneeto wants falls right into your hands… It's like something is looking out for us, Shmi. Destiny, the gods, that Force they say the Jedi believe in… This is meant to happen, Shmi. We're meant to be together. We're meant to be free."

"We must be…" She was dizzy, giddy with hope and happiness. His mouth met hers, and his hands on her were strong and certain, nothing held back this time. Her body sang in response, and she was quite ready to give herself to him, right then and there, if only they had the time…

_Time_.

How long had they been out here, talking? Longer than they'd ever stayed out before, and it had already been late in the meal break when they started.

Much too long…

She gasped and pulled away, frantic but reluctant nevertheless. "Kern, I've got to go! It's so late. They must have started back to work already…" She darted for the door, Kern close beside her.

He ran with her down the corridor. "Will they beat you, if you're late?"

"Probably." Shmi was defiant, though fear clutched at her heart. "I don't care if they do."

He grabbed her hand and pulled her to a halt. "Shmi, let me come with you. I'll stop them…"

She jerked her hand roughly away. "There's nothing you can do. Go!" She bolted away from him.

By the time she arrived in the servant's kitchen, sweaty and panting for breath, the other slaves had already been at work for at least half an hour. The head cook was waiting for her, whip in hand.

But even the pain as the whip lashed her bare back could not wholly destroy the flame newly rekindled within her. She had been beaten before, and for less cause. She would not regret those precious moments of reconciliation with Kern, no matter what they cost her. She put her head down, and bit her lip to keep from screaming, and held his face before her mind's eye, her icon of hope.


	10. Chapter 10

Sorry this is late. I've been trying since Wed. to get this up, but the site wouldn't let me upload anything until today. Hopefully they've got that error fixed for good now. Thanks very much to everyone who's left me reviews, especially QueenMeep. I'll have another chapter up next Tue or Wed. 

**Chapter 10**

That night, as she lay on her stomach, the welts on her back burning even in the cool night air, she heard her curtain pushed back, and his low voice murmur, "Shmi?"

She twisted toward him, and gave a little gasp as the movement shot pain through her back. "Kern! But I didn't say anything to Irneeto…"

He came and sat beside her on the narrow bed. "He said you would need me."

"Yes." The tears she had been able to resist since the beating broke through at last. She buried her face in her thin pillow and cried for a long time. He stroked her hair until the shuddering sobs faded and she was still.

"I hate being a slave, Kern. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it, I hate it…"

"Soon, beloved. Soon. Neither of us will ever have to go through this again. I promise."

She clung to that promise with all her strength, as he gently spread soothing salve on her throbbing wounds. When he was finished, he lay down next to her and eased his body against hers, careful to avoid jarring the sore places. She leaned against him, the warm length of his body against hers igniting desire, even through her pain. "I'm willing to try, if you want…"

"Shh, don't be silly. I don't think either of us would enjoy it very much tonight. We have time. All the time in the world. Just rest, so you can heal."

She took comfort in his closeness, and soon she did drift off to sleep. He slept too, holding her all through the night, until shortly before the morning klaxon he slipped away, back to his alcove.

She was stiff and sore, but able to get up and go to work as usual. Against the ache in her back, she set her mantra of hope. _Kern loves me. We are going to escape. Until then, we will be together, every mealtime, every night._

She hurried to the dining hall as soon as she was released from work. He was there at the head of the line waiting for her, and it was as if all the long months of loneliness had been nothing but a dream, for things were just as they had been, except that now each was acutely aware of how close they had come to losing the other forever.

Since they got their food early and ate quickly, they had time to retreat to the solitude of the courtyard, though they were scrupulously careful not to overstay their allotted minutes this time. They talked, filling each other in on everything that had happened while they had been apart. Shmi was hungry for the sound of his voice as much as for his body, so while the pain of her wounds prevented her from enjoying the one as much as she wanted, she contented herself with the other.

She was most interested in the details of their plans. "When are we going to be able to leave? How soon will you know?"

"We're on round ninety-five now. Each round takes about three or four days, although the closer we get to the end of the game and the more exciting it gets, the more time they're going to want to spend playing, so it might go quicker. But we'll get to round one hundred and three in a few weeks, maybe a month."

"Are you going to be able to keep winning, do you think?"

He shrugged, pushing the sand idly into piles in front of him where they sat cross-legged on the ground next to the patch of flowers. "I hope so. Sabaac involves both luck and skill, so partly it depends on what cards I'm dealt, but more on how well I play. I'm better than most of them, but Ketrell is very good. If anyone beats me, it will be him."

"And you're sure they'll agree to bet to let you go? They won't just turn you over to Jabba?"

"Oh, no. There is a certain code of honor among gamblers. As long as the offer is on the table, it's sacrosanct. They would never dream of revealing it to anyone outside our game. And if I win, they will carry out their part of the bargain without any hesitation."

"But if you lose…"

His eyes were grim as he turned to her. "If I lose, they'll turn me over to Jabba immediately. And you know how he deals with slaves who attempt to escape. That's why we only have the one chance."

Shmi stared at him, eyes round.

He shrugged. "That's why it's a gamble. I think I've got better than even odds. Come on, we can't risk you being late again."

In the days that followed, Shmi's back slowly healed. Kern slipped into her bed each night, and they whispered together and cuddled and drank in the pleasure of long unhurried hours together, but he was always very careful not to do anything that might hurt her whip welts further, and she was grateful for his consideration. But the morning came when she awoke to find she had rolled over onto her back during the night without waking, and she wiggled her shoulders against the hard bed without feeling anything more than mild discomfort.

Kern had slipped out of bed already, and was dressing himself in his tunic, preparing to sneak back to the men's quarters before the klaxon sounded. Watching him, she felt a delicious thrill of anticipation mingled with terror run through her body.

He turned to kiss her again before leaving. She caught his hand and held him for a moment. His grey-green eyes gazed into hers. "I'm ready," she whispered. "Tonight."

He hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Tonight." Their gaze held, intent and solemn, for an endless instant, then his smile washed over her, warm and full of light, and she answered it with a tremulous smile of her own.

That day, the rarest of all events on Tatooine happened, a sudden brief shower of rain. Throughout the compound all the slaves crowded to the windows to see, and the overseers pushed right in with them to stare in wonder for a few moments before ordering them back to work.

After their meal, when Shmi and Kern emerged into the courtyard, a few droplets still lingered, spangling every surface with crystal-bright sparkles in the restored light of the suns. They laughed together like children. The flowers were outdoing themselves with blooms in response to the abundance of water. Kern gathered droplets from their petals on the tips of his fingers, and touched them to Shmi's eager tongue. The tiny bursts of coolness tasted like sky and wind and wide, unbounded space.

They sat together, drinking in the unexpected beauty. Kern picked a handful of the tiny white and gold flowers and began braiding their stems together. Shmi leaned against his shoulder, watching his deft fingers twine the blossoms into a wreath of stars.

He shifted onto his knees and turned to face her. She straightened, gazing into his eyes. He held out the wreath to her like a gift.

"Marry me, Shmi."

She was dazzled by the emotion radiating from his eyes and singing in his voice, but cold reality punctured her joy, and she turned away, swallowing the bitterness that rose in her throat. "You know slaves aren't allowed to marry."

"Maybe not legally, with all the proper papers, but that doesn't matter. We can do all that later, on some other world. But right now, we can make our vows to each other." Suddenly diffident, he lowered the circlet of flowers into his lap. "If that's what you want."

She reached out with trembling hands. "More than anything in the galaxy." She twined the flower chain around their clasped hands.

"Except?" he teased her.

"Except nothing, you silly man." The memory of their first kiss danced on her lips.

They knelt facing each other, hands bound together by flowers, and gazed at each other a long moment in silence before Kern spoke, in words of ancient ritual. "I, Kern Bluesand…"

She answered, the words she had never hoped to be able to speak. "And I, Shmi Skywalker…"

Their voices twined about each other, his low and her high, declaration and response, melody and counterpoint of a song with no music but their voices and the wind and the beating of their hearts.

"Give you my hand."

"Give you my heart."

"To be your husband."

"To be your wife."

"In days of want and days of wealth."

"In times of sickness and of health."

"Through pleasure and pain."

"Through sunshine and rain."

"By day and by night."

"In darkness and light"

"This I pledge to you."

"This I promise you."

"By the stars above us."

"By the Force within us."

Their voices joined and spoke the final words in unison. "From now until our lives' ending, united as one. May nothing save death part me and thee."

For a long perfect moment there was silence. They leaned toward each other and their lips met, soft and warm and sensual.

Shmi looked at Kern, at the patch of flowers growing and the ones still linking their hands, and around at the rain-washed courtyard. She closed her eyes, engraving it all in her memory, wishing she could freeze the moment forever in crystal, perfect and unchanging.

But all too soon reality reasserted itself. They were still slaves, after all, and even the transcendent moment of their marriage must be cut short, and they must separate for a time. They rose, and Kern unwound the flowers from around their hands, settling them instead around Shmi's neck.

The flower necklace drew odd looks, that evening in the kitchen, but Shmi didn't care. She carefully tucked away the best bits of food she could find, ready for trade.

She prepared herself even more carefully this time than that other, ill-fated night. After her shower, feeling as fresh and clean as the rain-washed desert, she replaced the wilted circlet of flowers about her neck, their sweet fragrance perfuming her. As soon as darkness and quiet had overtaken the slave quarters, she slipped out to Irneeto's post.

Kern was there already, chatting with the blue alien. She slipped into his embrace, reaching into her pocket for her offering to Irneeto. They hadn't prepared roast bantha in the kitchen for quite some time, but she had found some slices leftover from last time stored in the deep freeze, and appropriated them. She bubbled with suppressed laughter as she handed them to Irneeto. "Would you like some roast bantha tonight?"

He looked back and forth between Shmi and Kern, and smiled in understanding as he accepted the slices. "I would like that very much. I take it this is a special occasion?"

Shmi was delighted that she could at last share their secret. "We're married, Irneeto. Thank you so much. It couldn't have happened without you." She threw her arms around the surprised alien and kissed his cheek. Kern shook his rightmost hand and thumped him on the back.

He regarded them with bemused approval. "Congratulations, then, and the moons' blessing on you both." He patted her shoulder affectionately. "Go on then, furling, I'm sure you've got better things to do than stand around talking to me. Good night."

Shmi and Kern both bid him goodnight, and hand in hand slipped away through the dark corridors to Shmi's alcove.

As the curtain fell closed behind them, Shmi felt strange all over again to have him there with her, but that feeling was soon swept away in the pleasure of his mouth and hands. They undressed each other and slipped together into her bed. In their inexperience they were both awkward and clumsy, and it took experimentation to work out exactly how to go about things. There was laughter, and some pain, and tears of both frustration and joy. But in the end they found their way together to their destination, and Shmi knew profound happiness as their bodies, like their hearts and their spirits and their destinies, became one.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

The weeks that followed were the sweetest Shmi had ever known. She floated through each day on a golden cloud, mind occupied with thoughts of the night. She knew her feelings weren't hidden, and her relationship with Kern must be obvious to everyone, but she no longer cared. Even when lack of sleep caused her to nod at her task, and the head cook barked at her to wake up and get back to work, she brushed the fear and anger aside. Kern was her husband, she was his wife, and that was all that mattered any more.

She forgot to pay attention to the passage of time, so she didn't understand at first why one night Kern held her tighter than usual, and loved her with a frantic desperation unlike his usual gentleness. She held him, afterward, and stroked his hair back from where his face was buried in her shoulder. "What's wrong, Kern?"

"We finished round one hundred and two tonight. Tomorrow is it, Shmi. They'll insist on starting early and playing until the round is over. Tonight might be the last… If I don't win…"

She silenced him with her mouth on his, the kiss heightened by the terror they both felt. "Of course you're going to win. Don't even think of any other possibility."

But for all her brave words, she clung to him, and he to her, seeking comfort that didn't exist.

At the next day's meal, they ate together in near silence, only an occasional quiet word or gentle touch acknowledging the other's anxiety. They retreated to the courtyard, carefully watered the flowers, and then sat together without speaking. Shmi could sense that Kern was restless, trying to find the words for what he wanted to say. She waited, patiently letting him think, until finally he was ready to speak.

"Shmi, I've been thinking… I don't have to go through with it. No, hear me out. What we have is so precious; do we really want to risk it? I never thought I could be happy in slavery, but I have been happy, these past few weeks. I could be content to stay here, with you. If that's what you want."

Shmi leaned against him, unable to meet his eyes. "The past few weeks have been the best of my life. I could happily live this way forever. I hate the thought of risking it. But… it's not just us we have to think about, any more."

He stiffened against her. She nodded, pressing herself closer to him. "I was going to wait to tell you, because I'm not sure yet. But… I think I may be pregnant."

For a long moment he was still, and she closed her eyes and buried her face in his chest, afraid to see his reaction. But at length he put his arms around her and crushed her close. She looked up at him and he bent to kiss her. His eyes met hers, all the doubt and confusion gone. "That settles it, then. I'll make the bet, and then… whatever happens, happens."

She nodded.

He broke into a tremulous smile and reached to caress her belly, looking at her for permission. She pressed his hand there firmly, though it was far too early to feel any difference. She laughed a little, and he joined her, eyes wide with wonder. "It's so hard to believe, Shmi. I never thought…"

"For me too. But I was due to start my cycle four days ago, but I haven't yet. And yesterday I felt a little nauseous in the afternoon, but it went away after I ate. So I think I must be."

For a while they shared their joy in silence. But mindful of the need to return to work on time, eventually they stood and made their way toward the door.

Kern dug in his belt pouch. He took her hands in his, pressing a small cold object into her palm. She stared down at the speeder key. "Keep this. Just in case. You might find a way to use it someday, if…"

She shook her head in denial, eyes wide with fear, but he continued.

"I won't name you when I propose the bet; I'll just say myself and one other. Not that they won't guess, but still, you should be safe. The game probably won't finish until late tonight. If I win, I'll come and get you as quickly as I can, so pack anything you want to take with you, and be ready. If I don't come by morning…." He swallowed. "I love you, Shmi. I will always love you. Don't ever forget."

Shmi was crying. "I love you, Kern, I love you…" His lips met hers, infinitely gentle, and she wept, for she knew he was telling her good-bye, if indeed this were to be their final farewell.

He tore himself away. Hand in hand they walked through the corridors to where they must part. Her last glimpse of him was his back, tall and straight, as he strode away from her toward the garage.

That night, she lay awake in her bed, fully dressed, eyes fixed on the stars outside the tiny window, heart pounding. She had made a small bundle of her few possessions and tied them up in her apron. It lay waiting by the curtain. She had no way of knowing how the game went. A thousand times she became convinced that it had been too long, that Kern must have lost and even now the Gamorreans must be dragging him before Jabba to be summarily executed. A thousand times she hoped again, certain every tiny sound was his footstep outside her curtain. The night wore on.

She started awake. The stars had jumped to new positions. She must have drifted off to sleep. It was far past midnight now. "Kern?" she whispered. But her straining ears heard nothing.

Desolation flooded her. It was too late. He was probably already dead. She was too cold for tears, too empty for grief. She closed her eyes, sure she would never sleep again, but longing for the oblivion of unconsciousness.

This time it was definitely a sound that woke her. She froze as her curtain fluttered. Were they coming to get her also, knowing her to be Kern's accomplice?

A hand touched her cheek. "Wake up, Shmi." She started shaking, for it was Kern's beloved voice, and his lips were on hers for a quick kiss, and his hands firm in hers pulling her upright. "Let's go."

She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her bundle. She threw her arms around him just to assure herself that he was real. "You won?"

"I won. We've got to hurry. The patrols will only avoid the garage for an hour."

They padded as silently as possible through the hallways of the women's quarters. As they approached Irneeto's guard station, Shmi went ahead. The gold disks of Irneeto's eyes glowed in the darkness.

She realized she had nothing for him. "I'm sorry, Irneeto, I forgot to bring you anything tonight."

"Don't worry about it, furling. You've given me more than I could ever have hoped for. And you're here to collect your debt, aren't you?"

"Yes."

He pulled the keys from the belt at his waist, and turned to unlock the heavy durasteel grating that barred the entrance to the slaves' quarters. Shmi held her breath as the creak of the hinges as it swung open seemed to echo in the silence of the night.

"Don't tell me the specifics, but you have a way to get out of the compound, and to safety?"

"We do." Guilt assailed her. "Oh, I hope you don't get in trouble for this, Irneeto." The thought hadn't occurred to her before that he might be blamed for their escape.

"Me? I never saw anything." He reached out to pat her arm. "Don't worry about me, furling. Just be careful." He turned to Kern. "You take care of her, you hear?"

"I will." They clasped hands. Shmi threw her arms around Irneeto and hugged him fiercely.

They slipped through the gate, and Irneeto locked it behind them. The corridors of the compound stretched before them, changed by the shadows from their usual familiarity to an alien landscape. But as Kern had assured her, they were deserted, and the two of them made their way without difficulty across the compound to the garage.

Shmi fumbled with her bundle, and carefully extracted the key from where she had tied it in a corner of her apron. Kern took it and went to where a small speeder was moored, secured to its docking station by a heavy chain fastened with a large padlock. The snick of the key turning in the lock was barely audible, but the clank as the chain hit the ground made Shmi jump, seeming to echo around the garage for long moments until at last silence returned.

She lent Kern her strength, and together the two of them dragged the speeder, bouncing gently on its repulsors, toward the vast door. Kern worked the controls, and the door rumbled upwards. He stopped it just high enough for them to drag the speeder out, ducking their heads. Then he shut it again. Shmi no longer knew whether the pounding of her heart came from fear or exertion.

But despite the noise, the garage remained deserted as the descending door cut it off from her sight, and the flat expanse of sand outside the duracrete walls of Jabba's compound stretched empty and vast underneath the blazing stars. Ketrell was honoring his bet. Shmi looked up at the twinkling lights of distant suns, allowing herself to believe for the first time that soon they would be out there, among them.

She climbed into the speeder as Kern took his place in the driver's seat and started the engine. The little speeder was as fast as Kern had promised, and within moments the low outlines and domed tower of Jabba's compound had vanished behind them. She shivered as the cold night air whipped past them in the open cockpit. Kern put his arm around her shoulders and she gratefully leaned into him.

"Have you ever been out here before?" she asked him. "Do you know the way?"

"I've studied the map. We'll hit the road that leads to Mos Espa a little way ahead. We'll circle the outskirts of the city, and then join the main road south to Mos Eisley. It's a long way; I hope you're not too uncomfortable."

"No." She didn't say that she would gladly endure icy wastes, flames, storms, nightmares to gain their freedom. A few hours in a chilly speeder was nothing.

She didn't dare say, or even think too loudly, that they were out, they were free, their plan had succeeded. They were still in danger, and would be as long as they remained on Tattooine. She wouldn't risk jinxing the remarkable luck that had blessed them so far.

She snuggled her head more firmly into Kern's side. "Tell me about your game. How did they react, when you made the bet?"

"Actually, they didn't even act surprised. I think they must have guessed that's what I was planning. I think they hoped I would, even, because I had to put up a huge amount of cash to cover it. Any one of them that beat me would have been set for life – or until they lost it all again, more likely. Anyway, it was an exciting round. All the others dropped out until it was just me and Ketrell. In the end, it came down to the last card."

"Only one card." Shmi felt dizzy. Maybe it was better, after all, that she hadn't been able to be there watching. Just hearing about it was almost more than she could bear. It wouldn't have done them any good if she'd screamed, or fainted, or fallen down dead, now would it?

"Yes. He had the stronger hand, but I was only one card short of a six-card orbit. I had one last chance to complete it. I knew there was only one card left in the deck that could do it. The odds were at least fifty to one against me. Any other hand I'd have dropped out to cut my losses. But – I didn't have any choice. So I drew." He shrugged. "And I got it."

Shmi closed her eyes and leaned against him. They must truly be favored by gods or fate or Force. She sent her heart's fervent thanks out into the night.

The desert rolled along beneath the speeder. They passed endless kilometers of wind-sculpted dunes, bizarrely shaped outcroppings of rock, and flat glassy plains. Shmi caught haunting glimpses of fantastic landscapes lit only by the hard glitter of the stars. She drowsed a little, her head on Kern's shoulder. The night seemed endless, but eventually, just as the sky was starting to lighten in the east, a collection of low domes and rectangles peeked up over the horizon. As the sun appeared, they arrived at the outskirts of Mos Eisley.

Kern halted the speeder. He sat and looked at the city for a long moment before climbing out and offering Shmi a hand. She clambered down, stretching legs stiff from the cold and the long inactivity. She pulled out her bundle and slung it over her shoulder. Kern retrieved his slightly larger bundle from where he had stowed it in the back of the speeder and set it on the ground. Then he climbed back in, warned Shmi to stand back, and restarted the speeder. He backed up and turned the speeder until it pointed out into the trackless desert, away from both the city and the road they had followed here. He jumped out, leaving the speeder running. Shmi wondered what he was doing. Then she understood. He reached in and engaged the speeder's drive, and jumped back as it shot away. He watched in satisfaction until it was out of sight, then turned to pick up his bundle and throw and his arm around Shmi.

"The autopilot should keep it from crashing into anything until it runs out of fuel, far from here. If any one ever finds it, it won't lead them to us. Come on."

Side by side they set out toward Mos Eisley.


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Together they trekked the last few kilometers into the city proper. People were starting to stir. A few vendors were about, untying and rolling back the awnings that protected their stalls and wares from the blowing sand. As they made their way between the duracrete and pourstone buildings, more and more figures appeared, hurrying to their places of employment. Shmi glanced nervously at Kern. He was sauntering along, to all appearances completely relaxed. But she noticed he kept his head turned away from anyone they passed too closely. He grew up here, she remembered. There was always the risk that someone might recognize him.

"Where are we headed?" She felt that any moment she might hear shouts and blaster fire from those come to apprehend them.

He answered quietly. "The west quarter of the city. There were rumors, when I lived here. I never knew if they were true or not, but there was supposed to be a certain sign to watch for…. But if I can't find the place, we'll have to take our chances approaching a starship pilot directly."

The streets were rapidly becoming more crowded. Shmi and Kern had to crowd over to the side with all the other pedestrians more and more often, as dewbacks, eopies, and speeders forced their way through, their riders or drivers taking little heed of the many they inconvenienced. Shmi was glad when they finally turned off onto a side street. But soon she became more nervous. At least among the crowds they had a certain anonymity. Here the streets were nearly deserted, and they stood out. The buildings pressed close on either side, the narrow spaces between dirty and smelly. Doors were heavy and heavily locked, some protected by bars. Above, a few windows were open. Shmi could hear quarrelling voices. From some windows laundry hung fluttering in the faint dawn breeze that would soon die and give way to the stifling heat of the day.

Shmi's feet were starting to ache. She was hungry, and thirsty, and in urgent need of a 'fresher. She plodded along beside Kern, starting to despair. How could they hope to find shelter, based on nothing but years-old rumors?

They came to a section of buildings that seemed poorer, but more friendly. Here some doors stood open, and women stood about, chatting with their neighbors. A group of children ran past, shrieking with laughter. Almost every window displayed drying laundry. In a few places there were even clotheslines strung across the street high overhead, tunics and leggings and sheets waving like festive banners.

"In this poor section they won't have been able to afford the water to actually wash them." Kern's voice was distracted as he scanned building after building. "Mostly it's for show, to give the illusion you're wealthier than you are, and to give your clothes a bit of an airing, so they don't stink so much… Ah, look there!" He pointed.

Shmi followed his finger. Above a nondescript doorway, a blanket hung from a window. Unlike most of the cream and brown and sand-colored garments that graced the street, Shmi could tell this one had once been brightly colored, though faded now by the harsh suns to much the same colors as the others. It seemed to be made of many small pieces of cloth sewn together in a pattern of alternating dark and light wavy stripes.

"That's it. The sign the rumors said to look for. It's a Geesian quilt. Supposedly Geesia was the first planet in the Republic to outlaw slavery, and the quilts are one of their traditional artforms. The pattern is called the Traveler's Road. This must be the place." He grabbed Shmi's hand and pulled her over to the doorway. Shmi went along, suddenly reluctant. It seemed such a small thing to pin their hopes on, a few scraps of tattered, faded fabric.

Kern knocked on the door. For a long time there was silence. He knocked again. Shmi was almost ready to drag him away, back to the spaceport section of the city where docking bays were located every few blocks, where at least they'd have a chance of finding transport away. But then an old woman's scratchy voice demanded, "Who's there?"

"Travelers on the Road, seeking shelter." Kern kept his voice quiet, just barely loud enough to be heard through the door.

The woman's voice gave a little gasp, and then Shmi heard the clicks of locks being unfastened, and the beeping of a security system being disabled. The door opened a crack and a face heavily seamed with wrinkles peered out. Sharp black eyes scanned up and down the street before fixing on Shmi and Kern. "Come in, dearies, come in. We're always glad to offer hospitality to those on the Road." She stood aside, and Shmi slipped through the door, closely followed by Kern.

She nearly stumbled on the few steps that led down into the sunken dwelling, before her eyes grew accustomed to the dim light and she caught her balance. The apartment was tiny, no bigger than the slave hovels in Mos Espa, but clean and neatly though sparsely furnished. The old woman, after again searching the street and satisfying herself no one had noticed them enter, fastened an impressive number of locks, and engaged the security system. She bustled past them and indicated a round table circled by four chairs. "Have a seat, have a seat. I'll be getting you some caf, or we've blue milk if you'd prefer." Her sharp black eyes seemed to look straight through Shmi. "'Fresher's in the back, dearie, make yourself at home. It's a long hard journey, is the Road, and I daresay you'd be glad of a few comforts."

Eager as Shmi was to avail herself of the offered facilities, she paused. "The Road?"

Black eyes glittered at her. "The Road to Freedom, dearie, of course. But the less spoken about that, the better."

Shmi let out her breath in a long sigh. They had found the right place.

By the time she finished and came out to join Kern at the table, she was swaying with weariness. She sank into a chair and gratefully sipped from the mug of caf waiting for her. It was far stronger and better than she was accustomed to, but she doubted even its stimulant effects could long offset the sleepiness that was quickly overwhelming her.

The old woman bustled back to the table, bearing a plate full of toasted bread. Shmi paused before taking one, embarrassed. "We haven't even introduced ourselves. I'm Shmi –"

"That will do to call you by," the old woman interrupted. "No need to tell more than you must."

"Oh." Shmi floundered for a moment. "Well, this is Kern, then. And what should we call you?"

"You can call me Granny, dearie. Most everyone does." She seated herself across from Shmi. "Granny Tikva, if you want to get all proper."

"Granny Tikva," Shmi repeated. "We can't thank you enough for taking us in, and the food, and everything…"

"There's no need, dearie. It's no more than my duty to any Traveler."

"About that…" Shmi hesitated, looking at Kern. He nodded encouragement to her. "What, exactly, is going to happen next? You've already given us more than we could ever have expected, but we really have to get offworld. Is there any way you can help us…?"

"Of course, of course. You're on the Road now, and those of us that tends it will see you safe to the end of it. That's why we're here. I've already sent word to my son. He'll see what's what with our contacts, and come by this evening to let you know the plan. He's mighty pleased; it's been nigh on a year since we last helped a Traveler. Not many are able to take that path these days. You two must not have been fitted with exploders yet?"

Kern shook his head. "No, not yet."

"You're very lucky, you are. Time was we had a steady business of Travelers, but soon as those exploders came on the market, it all dried up. Not hardly worth keeping the quilt in the window, these days. Good thing for you two, though, I've not given up just yet. Now, what's the likelihood of you being searched for? Should we expect just the local fellows, or do you come from one of the big operations that will be sending their own folks?"

"The biggest." Kerns face was grim. "They'll start the search in Mos Espa, but they'll come here soon enough."

"We'll just have to make sure you're nowhere to be found, then, won't we?" Granny Tikva rose and began clearing the table. Shmi jumped up to help her, and in a few minutes the empty mugs and plates had all been deposited in the kitchen. Granny Tikva returned and gestured to Kern. "If you don't mind, dearie…"

Following her directions, Kern dragged the table to one side. Granny Tikva bent and flipped away the rug it had rested on, revealing a faint rectangle etched in the floor. She worked a hidden control, and the rectangle sank into steps, leading down into darkness.

"You go on down there. There's a bed and a 'fresher. Get yourselves some rest. I'll put the table and rug back. Then even if they go door-to-door, no one will be the wiser that I've got guests."

Too tired to be very surprised, Shmi stepped obediently down into the dark. Her groping hand found a switch that activated a soft yellow glow. The room revealed was tiny and bare, holding nothing but the promised bed, little more than a pallet on the floor. But it was spread with a brighter version of the quilt that hung in the window, and to Shmi it seemed palatial.

Kern followed her down. Granny Tikva called down, "I'll come and get you when my son gets here. Rest well." Then the stairs withdrew back into the ceiling.

Shmi kicked off her boots and collapsed on the bed. "I can't believe it. We did it. We're safe, and they're going to help us get off Tatooine…" Her throat closed up and tears blurred her vision.

Kern came and sat next to her, wrapping her in his arms. "How are you and the little one doing?"

"Oh." Shmi's eyes widened, and her hand went to her abdomen. "I'd forgotten." She shook her head and laughed a little. "Maybe that's why I'm so tired. But I feel fine, except for that."

"It's been a long night. Let's get some sleep."

Shmi mumbled her agreement, barely aware when he tucked her under the quilt as sleep claimed her.


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

It seemed like only moments later, though it must have been a few hours, when noises from above jarred Shmi abruptly and completely awake. She clung to Kern in terrified silence, listening to heavy footsteps and harsh voices questioning. Granny Tikva's thin voice answered them. Shmi couldn't understand what they were saying, but the conversation seemed to go on a terribly long time. More footsteps accompanied by clanks and thuds followed. Shmi stared fixedly at the rectangle in the ceiling where the steps waited, neatly folded, certain that at any moment their hiding place would be discovered and those steps would descend, booted feet thundering down them. But the steps remained unmoving, and at length the noises died away, all once again quiet.

She buried her face in Kern's chest. "Do you think they'll come back?"

"I hope not. I trust Granny Tikva."

"So do I, but…"

"I know." He kissed her, and she returned it with desperate need. They loved each other fiercely but silently. Shmi had a wild vision of the searchers returning and catching them in the middle of lovemaking. She almost broke into hysterical laughter, but instead threw herself with redoubled passion into Kern's arms.

They slept again, and eventually woke. Neither of them had a chrono, and there was none in the hidden room, so they had no way of knowing how much time had passed, but they knew it must be near evening. They dressed themselves and waited, seated on the bed, talking in hushed voices.

They both jumped when the stairs finally began their descent. But they relaxed a moment later, when Granny Tikva's voice called out, "It's all right, dearies. You can come up now."

Shmi couldn't help a trace of lingering suspicion as she climbed the steps, and she glanced around anxiously as her head emerged into the main room. But Granny Tikva nodded encouragingly to her, and the stranger seated at the table, a man who looked to be in his early thirties, rose and came to clasp her hand, and Kern's when he followed her.

Granny Tikva introduced him. "This is my son, Frelvak. Frel, this is Shmi, and this is Kern."

"I'm honored to meet you." Frelvak's voice was deep and husky. "To set out upon the Road requires great courage. I expect you'll want to find out what's in store for you. Come, sit down, and I'll tell you what I've been able to arrange today."

The three of them took seats around the table. Granny Tikva bustled back and forth to the kitchen, setting a meal of warm stew and tall cool drinks out for them, joining them at the table as they began to eat and talk.

Frelvak took a bite of stew and sighed in appreciation. "This is wonderful, mother. Thank you. Ardila will be sorry she missed it, but she stayed home to get the children to bed. They'll have to come visit their Granny another night. We wouldn't want to disturb our guests."

Shmi was about to protest that she would not have minded if the children had come, when understanding struck her. Frelvak did not want to expose his children or his wife to the danger posed by Shmi and Kern's presence in this house. She ducked her head and bit her lip.

Frelvak turned his attention to the two escaped slaves. "There are a few freighter pilots that help us by smuggling Travelers offworld. The next one due in to Mos Eisley is Foss Daveen, but his regular run won't bring him here for several weeks. I contacted him today, and we agreed that it would be best for him to follow his established schedule, to avoid raising any suspicion. Mother and I can shelter you here until he arrives. You will have to spend most of your time down in the hidden room, unfortunately. It won't be very pleasant, but you should be safe as long as no one knows you're here."

Shmi and Kern assured him that the tiny room would be more than adequate.

"When Foss's ship gets here, it will take a couple days for him to unload his cargo and take on a new load. Then we'll sneak you on board, and he'll take you to Naboo. That's the nearest Republic planet, and his usual next stop. How does that plan suit you?"

"It's far more than we could have ever hoped for," Kern said. His hand reached for Shmi's and squeezed it tight. "We'll never be able to repay you for your kindness to us."

Frelvak shook his head. "There's no need. Slavery's a blight on the galaxy, and we do what we can to work against it. It's a privilege to help you."

Kern nodded. His hand clutched Shmi's even harder. "You've already done so much. But there is one other thing…"

Shmi looked at him, puzzled.

Kern looked down, then met Frelvak's eyes, an odd mixture of pleading and defiance on his face. "My mother is a slave also, here in Mos Eisley. If there's any way we could get word to her, and take her with us…"

Frelvak nodded, though he frowned doubtfully. "Mother and I are fairly well known here, and some have their suspicions of us. We try not to be seen talking to slaves if we can help it."

"I understand." Kern's voice was resolute. "I would never ask you to put yourselves or your mission at risk. I'll go to her myself."

Shocked, Shmi grabbed his hand. "You can't do that! She's still with… at the same house where you grew up, right?"

"As far as I know."

"Someone would recognize you! You told me it hasn't even been ten years, yet, since you were sold to Jabba. There've got to be lots of people around Mos Eisley who would know your face still. I mean, what if your… her owner saw you?"

Shmi could tell he knew she was right, but he refused to give in. "I'll just have to risk it. I've been thinking of her so much lately… I didn't expect to have a chance to reach her, but we're here, and we've got time, and a safe place, and she's so close… I can't leave without at least trying, Shmi."

"I know." Shmi thought of her own mother, and father, and brother. She could only assume they were still on Tatooine somewhere, but she had no idea where, or even if any of them were still alive. If she did have that knowledge, she would certainly be as insistent as Kern on trying to bring them to freedom with her. She hated trying to dissuade Kern, so well she understood his urgency, but the risk was just so great…

Suddenly she realized the solution to the problem. "I'll go." She raised her voice over his objections. "No, it makes much more sense for me to do it. I've never been in Mos Eisley before. Nobody here will recognize me. You just tell me where to go, and how to find her. I'll be perfectly safe."

"Perfectly safe?" Kern's voice was high with incredulity. But when their eyes locked for a long challenging instant, it was his that dropped first. "I don't like it."

"I don't like it either." She shivered a little inside, thinking of wandering the unfamiliar streets of Mos Eisley alone. "But you've got to admit, I have a better chance than you."

Reluctantly, Kern nodded. He looked at Frelvak. "Well?"

Frelvak looked back and forth between Kern and Shmi, then glanced at his own mother. "All right. I 'd rather you didn't risk it, but I can see why you have to. But, take my advice, and wait until Foss's ship docks. There'll be less time that way for anything to go wrong."

Kern and Shmi agreed. They finished the rest of the meal speaking only of inconsequential matters. Frelvak bid them good night and departed for his own home, and Granny Tikva let them down again into their hiding place.

The next weeks were both wonderful and stressful. At first it was bliss for Shmi to be able to spend every moment of the day with Kern. The first day they filled the long hours with talk of all sorts of things, both weighty and trivial. They luxuriated in the freedom and privacy to make love whenever they wanted, and took generous advantage of it. They shared the meals that Granny Tikva brought down to them, and marveled at the totally unfamiliar opportunity to relax without any demands on their time.

Very soon, though, the tight quarters grew claustrophobic, and the endless empty hours began to seem more curse than blessing. Within a few days Shmi had grown heartily sick of their confinement. She could only play sabaac for a certain amount of time before growing bored with it. She could only sleep so much. There was no space to move or to stretch her legs, and her body, which had been accustomed to constant hard work, felt weak and dull. Even Kern's company, much as she adored him, grew trying after awhile.

The fourth time she tripped over his boots on her way to the tiny refresher alcove in the corner was too much, and her temper snapped. "I asked you not to leave these lying in the middle of the floor!" She snatched up the offending boot and hurled it hard against the wall.

He was as stressed by the days of confinement and forced inactivity as she was. "Why don't you just look where you're going, then? It's not like there's anywhere else I can put them."

"You can put them at the foot of the bed, where I put mine! You're messy, and thoughtless, and you don't care if I fall and break my neck…" She crumpled to the floor and hid her head in her hands, sobbing.

He came and tried to lay his hand on her shoulder, but she twisted away. "Just leave me alone!" she shrieked.

"Fine." He retreated to the opposite side of the room, scarcely more than two meters away, and studiously ignored her as her wails gradually quieted to sobs, then to occasional sniffs and hiccups. She huddled on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, head tucked, unmoving except for every now and then scrubbing her face on her sleeve. As the silence stretched cold between them, shame crept into her heart, making her misery that much more acute.

Finally she could bear it no longer, and she lifted her head. "Kern?"

He was lying on the pallet, his back to her. "What?"

"I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"Hm." He was quiet and still for a few moments longer. She noticed he had placed his boots carefully beside hers at the foot of the bed.

He rolled over to face her. "I'm sorry I left them laying where you could trip over them."

She breathed deeply, feeling tension drain from her shoulders. She crawled onto the bed and cuddled up to him. His arm went around her and squeezed her gently.

That wasn't their last quarrel, but they did learn to temper their anger and reign in the hurtful words that came first and most easily to their lips, and to treat each other with extra consideration and gentleness.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

The day finally came when Granny Tikva brought, along with their morning meal, the news that Foss Daveen's ship had docked. Shmi and Kern had worked out their plan during the long days of waiting. When Granny Tikva came to take away their dirty plates Shmi slipped upstairs with her, and donned a loose robe Granny Tikva had procured for her. They watched out the window, and when for moment the street outside was deserted, Granny Tikva unfastened the locks and Shmi stepped out into the street.

Kern had instructed her on exactly where to go. She made her way out of the poor sections of Mos Eisley, through the crowded business district, and into a section where the streets widened and the houses were set farther apart. There were few pedestrians here at this time of day. Kern had told her that if things were still as he remembered them, midmorning would be a good time to approach his mother. His father would have departed for his place of business, and the other household slaves would be busy about their work.

Shmi came to the house marked with the proper number. Large as it appeared, she knew it was even more extensive underground. Nervous, she looked up and down the street, but no one was near. She pressed the chime, and heard its faint tone through the thick door.

The response was prompt. A woman opened the door. She was not particularly tall, but she held herself very erect. Her face, though beginning to show the effects of many years beneath Tatooine's harsh suns, retained an elegant beauty. She wore her hair in long straw-colored braids wrapped around her head, and her clothes, though of the common slave style, were immaculately clean and pressed.

"I'm sorry, miss." Her voice was courteous, but curt. "We do not accept solicitors here. We are not interested in anything you are selling or any charity you are collecting for. Good-b –"

"Lani Bluesand?" Shmi cut in, as the other woman was starting to shut the door in her face.

The door paused. The woman looked at her with sharp curiosity. "Yes?"

Shmi put her hand on the doorframe. "Please, I've come from your son Kern. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?"

At Kern's name, Lani's face went blank with shock, but by the time Shmi finished speaking she had recovered most of her poise. She opened the door wide and gestured for Shmi to enter, her hands only shaking a little. "Of course. Come in, please." She shut the door behind Shmi, and ushered her through the spacious, cool, softly lit entryway, down a broad flight of stairs, and into an elegantly furnished sitting room. She sank down on a sofa as if her legs would suddenly not support her any more, and drew Shmi down beside her.

Her eyes anxiously searched Shmi's face. "Tell me, is Kern all right? He's not…"

"No, no, he's fine. Better than fine." Shmi looked around. "Are you sure no one can hear us here? There are no recording devices, or anything?"

"No." Lani leaned close. "You can speak freely."

Shmi took a deep breath. She kept her voice to a barely audible whisper. "Kern is here in Mos Eisley. We escaped from Jabba the Hutt's compound, and found sanctuary here with people who help escaped slaves. There's a ship that's going to take us offworld tomorrow, and he wants you to come with us."

Lani's hands went to her mouth. Her eyes, wide and round, grey-green like Kern's but with a touch more gold, stared at Shmi, then closed, and she bowed her head. After a moment, she reached out and laid a hand on Shmi's knee, and raised wondering eyes to Shmi's face. "Oh, child." She looked away a moment, breathing deeply, then turned back to Shmi with a gentle smile. "You're Kern's friend?"

"His wife." Shmi couldn't help smiling a little with pride as she said it.

Lani nodded, and reached to stroke Shmi's cheek. "You tell Kern I think he's chosen well."

Shmi blushed. "You can tell him yourself." Something in Lani's manner worried Shmi. "You are going to come with us, aren't you?"

Lani shook her head, her eyes bright with tears. "No, child – What's your name?"

"Shmi. Shmi Skywalker."

"I can't come with you, Shmi. My place is here. I have my work, and my status, and Arnell depends on me." She held up a hand to silence Shmi's protests. "And none of that should matter, I know. If I were twenty years younger, it wouldn't. But this would."

She pushed back her sleeve to show Shmi a small scar on her upper arm. Shmi stared at it in horror. She knew what it meant. "That's where they insert the probe, when they implant…"

Lani nodded. "I've had it for nearly a year, now. Arnell had all his slaves implanted. He couldn't very well make an exception for me, could he?" Her voice was rueful and gently ironic, but with an edge of old and deeply buried bitterness.

Shmi bit her lip. "I'm so sorry…"

"Don't be, child. You've brought me great joy today, letting me know my son is alive and well and on his way to freedom. Now tell me, all about him, and you, and your escape, and your plans…"

Shmi poured out the tale of how she and Kern had met, and all the twist and turns of their relationship and their bid for freedom. Lani listened, and questioned, and interjected her own memories of Kern as a child. By the time Shmi had finished, she felt so close to Kern's mother that she found herself near tears that the time was drawing close when she would have to leave, and that Lani could not come with them.

Eventually Lani glanced at her wrist chrono, then toward the door. "Oh, child, I could talk with you for hours yet, but Arnell will be home for lunch soon, and you must be gone before he comes."

Shmi rose hastily. "I wouldn't want you to get in trouble on my account."

"No fear of that, as long as you're safely on your way." She rose and walked with Shmi up the stairs to the door.

Shmi hesitated. "Lani…"

"Shmi, would you like… you already feel like a daughter to me… would you call me Mother?"

Shmi nodded, her eyes filling with tears. "Mother, there's something else you should know." She took Lani's hands and placed them on her still-flat belly. "We're going to have a baby."

Lani sighed, and smiled. "I thought there was something about you…" She stood there a long moment, eyes closed. She took a deep breath, and enfolded Shmi in her warm embrace.

Both their eyes were damp by the time Lani stepped back, her hands lingering on Shmi's arms. "Tell Kern I love him, and my blessings go with all three of you. Farewell on your journey. Hurry now, it's getting late."

"I'll tell him. Good-bye, L– Mother." Shmi turned away, tears blurring her eyes. She knew she would never see Kern's mother again. It was strange, that she could grieve so deeply the loss of something she hadn't even known until just now she had.

She turned back toward Granny Tikva's house, making her way slowly back through the city. Her thoughts were distracted, focused on the memory of her conversation with Lani. She walked automatically, not paying attention to her surroundings, or really seeing anything, until a loud voice interrupted her thoughts.

"Shmi?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter 15**

The voice was shrill with incredulity. For a confused moment Shmi tried to collect her scattered thoughts, swept by a sick feeling of dread in the pit of her stomach even before she remembered the reason for it. No one here should know her name! She scrambled to pull up the hood she had thoughtlessly let dangle down her back, and turned away from the voice, but she knew it was already too late.

"It _is_ you, Shmi!"

Despairing now of avoiding whoever had recognized her, Shmi turned back and made a shushing gesture, but her hand froze in mid-motion at the sight of the familiar spiky red hair and thickly freckled face of the woman who had halted as she passed, and now stood staring, oblivious of the impatient pedestrians who crowded close, angered by the two women who blocked the way. "Darna?"

"What are you doing in Mos Eisley, Shmi? Did Jabba sell you, too? Or…" Darna's eyes narrowed in calculation, and Shmi felt a chill of fear as they widened again, and Darna's mouth began slowly to stretch into a grin of delighted malice. "That's what all the fuss was about the other week. They were looking for you!" Her hand shot out and seized Shmi by the wrist before she could draw back. "You ran off, didn't you? And now I've found you. Do you know how big the reward is for escaped slaves?"

"No!" Shmi fought to free her hand, but Darna's grip was strong. Shmi saw Darna start to draw breath to shout for the authorities. In desperation she threw herself at the other woman and managed to get behind her and slap her free hand across her mouth. People were starting to stare, and she knew a single scream from Darna would bring them running to her aid.

Darna bit down, hard, on Shmi's hand and twisted savagely from her grip. Shmi staggered, and almost lost her balance and fell. As Darna prepared again to call for help, Shmi blurted out the only thing she could think of that might have any chance of stopping her. "You can come with us!"

Darna cut off her shout, and glared at Shmi. "What did you say?"

"You can come with us, offworld. I'll tell you everything. Just, please, don't turn me in."

Darna eyed Shmi warily, and then glanced around at the curious spectators. She grabbed Shmi by the wrist and hauled her into a narrow alleyway opening. The sudden shade after the glare of the suns blinded Shmi. She blinked to clear her eyes, the stench of garbage strong around them.

"Us?" hissed Darna. "Who else is with you?"

Too late Shmi realized her mistake. "No… nobody. It's just me."

"You're lying. You said 'us.' Tell me who's with you, or I'm turning you in right now." Darna's grip tightened painfully on Shmi's wrist.

Terrified, Shmi still found the courage to defy her. "Go ahead. Then you'll lose your chance for freedom. You'll probably never get another."

Darna hesitated. For a moment her face betrayed her feelings, and Shmi read there a fierce, greedy hunger. But Darna brushed it away with a flippant toss of her head. "No. But they'll execute you. Who's got more to lose?" They stood glaring at each. Shmi's heart pounded loud in her ears, but she refused to turn away.

Finally Darna threw Shmi's arm down in disgust. "It's not as if I don't know who it is. You'd only ever be this stupid over Kern." Shmi tried to keep her expression blank, but she could not control the surge of fear that drained the blood from her face. "All right. I accept. I'll come with you."

What had she gotten them into? Shmi could only stammer stupidly, "You'll… come?"

"That was your offer, wasn't it? I don't turn you in, and you take me with you. It's a deal. You're going to be my ticket out of here. Just tell me where and when I should meet you."

Shmi's head swam dizzily. She didn't trust Darna, but she couldn't think what else she could do. And Darna would have a strong self-interest in keeping the secret. She felt strongly she should not tell, that it would be betraying Kern and Granny Tikva and Frelvak and all that they had worked for, yet if she refused Darna would turn her over to the authorities without a thought, and tell everything Shmi had revealed already. No ships would be allowed to leave Mos Eisley, and every house would be searched until Kern and those who sheltered him were found. All would be lost. Only a thin thread of hope remained. So despite the dread thick in her throat, she blurted out, "Tomorrow morning, just after sunsrise. Docking Bay 96."

No sooner had the words cleared her lips then she realized what she could have done. _Lie. Why didn't I lie? _But it was too late now. She bit her lip and gazed at Darna, willing her to cooperate.

Darna cocked her head and studied Shmi appraisingly. Slowly she nodded. "I'll be there." She smiled playfully, and poked Shmi in the side. "Who would have thought? You, and me, and Kern, all running away together? It should be fun. I'll see you tomorrow." She waved a cheerful good-bye, and vanished back out into the bright sunlight of the street.

Shmi stared after her, horrified. She pulled her hood up over her head and slipped out of the alley, keeping her head down, and hurried as fast as she could without running and drawing attention to herself, back to Granny Tikva's.

She was almost sobbing when Granny Tikva opened the door. The old woman didn't ask any questions, but swept her inside and bundled her quickly down to the secret room, where she fell into Kern's arms. Shmi poured out the story to the two of them.

"I didn't know what else to do!" she wailed, near hysteria. "What if she tells anyway, what if we're caught? I've ruined our only chance, it's all my fault, I was stupid and careless…"

"Hush, hush," Kern murmured, as she collapsed in tears against him. He continued to comfort her as her sobs ran their course and at length quieted. He stroked her hair, and she was finally able to compose herself and pull away a little. "It was bad luck, is all. There's nothing you could have done differently that would have made any difference."

Shmi didn't believe him, but she was willing to let herself be reassured. "What are we going to do?"

"I don't know." Kern turned to Granny Tikva. "Is there any chance Captain Daveen can move to a different docking bay, or leave early? Or we could just lay low here and let him leave without us, and wait for the next one of your contacts to make port."

"Maybe, maybe." Granny Tikva cocked her head to one side, considering. "This woman – Darna – is a slave, no?"

"Yes." Shmi breathed deeply, trying to calm herself.

"And she seeks freedom. It is my duty to aid all those who travel the Road. If she seeks to escape, we cannot simply abandon her."

Shmi jumped up. "But you don't understand! She's cruel, and deceitful, and she hates me. She'd do anything to hurt me. There's no way we can trust her."

Granny Tikva regarded her steadily. "But is there a chance she is serious about escaping with you?"

"I suppose…" Shmi swallowed. She looked sideways at Kern, and bit her lip. "I think… She only decided to come after she found out Kern was with me. She's tried to use you against me before. I think she may…" Shmi blushed and looked down, unable to meet Kern's eyes. "…want to take you away from me."

Kern burst out laughing, startling Shmi, but reassuring her. "I'd like to see the loofie-hen try! Don't worry, love; if that's her plan she's put her money on the wrong pod. But we can let her think she's got a chance, if it keeps her quiet until we're safely on Naboo."

Shmi shook her head. Neither of them knew Darna like she did. But she let herself be convinced that there was a chance the other woman was sincere.

Later Frelvak joined them, and they discussed at endless length all their options. But there was no way Captain Daveen could change his schedule without raising far too much suspicion. And it would be at least six months to a year before another ship willing to smuggle them out could reach Tatooine. Shmi knew that every day they stayed put Granny Tikva and Frelvak in more danger. They had no choice but to go through with the plan.

That night she and Kern cuddled together in the tiny room which had become their home. Shmi told Kern all about her meeting with his mother, and passed on Lani's message of love and blessing. They speculated for a while what Naboo might hold for them. Their warmth of their companionship, and later, the heat of his touch made Shmi forget for a while the looming feeling of dread that hung over her. Their love was fierce and sweet, unshadowed by any fear.

But at length it was over, and she could not help but remember again. She turned from him, trying to hide the tears that crept into her eyes, but he reached to brush them away.

"I'm so sorry, Kern."

"You have nothing to be sorry for. Nothing that's happened is your fault. Everything is going to be fine. Tomorrow we leave our old life and start a new one. A real, free life."

She pressed herself close to him. "I want to believe you."

"You can. I love you, Shmi. I'll always love you. I'll do anything in my power to protect you." He was silent for a long time. The soft fog of sleep had just started to envelope Shmi when he spoke again, low and intense. "But if anything should happen to me, promise me you won't do anything foolish. You have to take care of yourself and the little one. That's all that matters to me."

Shmi nodded, unable to speak, her head pressed tightly to his chest. His arms tightened around her, then relaxed. Gradually his breathing changed to the deep, slow rhythm of sleep. Eventually Shmi, too, slept.

The next morning Granny Tikva and Frelvak led them, hooded and cloaked, through the pre-dawn streets to the warehouse district. They slipped in through a wide, tall door, where a vast wagon, piled high with crates and boxes, stood harnessed to two rontos. The driver of the wagon showed them where they could change into the clothes of warehouse workers. Once they were ready to go, Shmi embraced Frelvak and Granny Tikva. "Thank you so much, for everything. You two are so brave, with the work you do. Anything we can ever do to help you…"

"I won't forget that, dearie. Once you're established, you contact us and I'll put you on the list to help out those who follow." She had already entrusted Shmi and Kern with the names of people on Naboo they could turn to for help, other escaped slaves and people who opposed slavery. Shmi nodded, though she knew how unlikely it was there would be many who could follow.

After a final flurry of farewells, Shmi and Kern climbed aboard the wagon, taking their places beside the driver on his long bench seat, and the driver cracked his whip. The rontos leaned into the harness and the wagon creaked into motion, rolling ponderously along behind the plodding beasts. Once at Docking Bay 96, the plan called for them to assist in transferring the cargo into the ship's hold, then slip unnoticed into hiding places aboard the vessel. This was the last shipment of cargo; as soon as it was all aboard Captain Daveen would take the ship into space.

They made their way through the streets of the city. They passed several of the huge round docking bays that were scattered around the city, until finally they drew near to their destination. Kern kept his head down, but Shmi scanned the street around the docking bay door, which was gradually filling with pedestrians as the day's light grew brighter.

"There." She spotted a shock of spiky red hair. "She's alone." Some of the tension that had been building up in Shmi's muscles relaxed. She waited until they had drawn close to the other woman, who was casually leaning against the wall beside the docking bay door with a bored expression.

"Darna!" Shmi hissed, barely loud enough to be heard above the rumble of the huge doors opening. Darna looked around, not seeing her. "Up here!"

Finally Darna looked up and saw them. Shmi scooted out of the way to make room for Kern to reach down to help her up. Darna reached up to grasp his offered hand, the loose sleeves of her slave tunic falling back. Shmi looked around worriedly, hoping no one would notice the contrast between Darna's clothes and their close-fitting dockworkers' jumpsuits.

Kern passed Darna along to settle on the long bench seat between Shmi and the driver. Then Kern nudged Shmi and patted the seat on the other side of him. Puzzled, she scrambled over to sit on his far side, nearest the outside of the wagon. He leaned close to her.

"Shmi." His voice was barely above a whisper. "As soon as you can see the ship, jump down and run, as fast as you can. Don't look back. Just get on board, and tell Captain Daveen to blast off."

Shmi stared at him. "What?"

"It's a trap." He jerked his head a tiny twitch back toward Darna, and touched his upper arm. When Shmi continued to look blankly at him, he leaned closer. "She's got a scar on her arm."

Horrified comprehension froze Shmi in place. The wagon lurched forward, and as they cleared the docking bay doors the ship came into sight, a large, nondescript freighter.

"Go, Shmi!" Kern yelled, shoving Darna hard into the driver. Then he was pushing Shmi ahead of him. She jumped off the wagon, stumbled as she hit the ground, but recovered and sprinted as fast as she could toward the ramp that led up to the ship's open hatch, Kern close behind her.

Shouts and blaster fire erupted around them, as the guards who had clustered hidden on either side just inside the docking bay door opened fire. Darna's shriek rose above the din. "That's them! Shoot them!"

Shmi felt a blaster bolt sizzle hot past her ear. She put her head down and ran, Kern's footsteps pounding in rhythm with her own.

Behind her, a thud and a cry, and Kern's footsteps were no longer there. She glanced wildly back, and froze. Kern lay stretched on the ground. Smoke rose from a blackened patch on his back.

He raised his head, and his eyes fixed on hers. "Run, Shmi," he gasped. For an instant more Shmi stared at him. As the guards raced toward them and the first of many more blaster bolts burned into his body, she turned and stumbled blindly toward the ship.

"Don't blast the girl! Jabba wants her alive! Stun her!"

Shmi ran. The ramp was only a few steps ahead. Safety, and freedom, for herself, and Kern's child…

The stun bolt caught her and she fell, her outstretched hand straining forward, until she came to rest frozen and helpless, face down on the sandy floor of the hangar. As she blacked out she caught a last glimpse of her reaching fingers paralyzed in the dust, less than a centimeter from the base of the ramp.


	16. Chapter 16

**Chapter 16**

Shmi swam back to consciousness slowly. The world spun around her, and vertigo made her stomach roll in protest, as rough hands seized and lifted her. She was carried out of the hanger and thrust aboard a waiting transport, where she was propped upright on a seat, squeezed into a narrow space between two large, sweating, smelly guards.

"Good work." The voice was familiar, loud over the cough of the engine roaring to life. "Jabba will be pleased."

Shmi blinked her bleary, watery eyes and peered at the speaker. She recognized his protruding snout and yellowish tusks. Ketrell. The other guards surrounding her were Gamorreans, also. They were taking her back to Jabba.

She twisted violently, trying to look behind them, where Docking Bay 96 was rapidly falling behind. Pedestrian, animals, and lesser vehicles scattered before the large and aggressive speeder. She struggled against her captors, but her efforts were useless, for they held her with merciless grips. Still she fought, until the guard on her right raised his blaster to stun her again. She froze, terrified, and he lowered it, laughing.

After that she could do nothing but huddle miserably in her seat as the transport sped out of Mos Eisley, across the desert towards Mos Espa. Her guards didn't protest when she drew her knees up to her chin, and she wrapped her arms around them and buried her face. She tried not to think, but the images played over and over in her mind. Kern falling, urging her to run, the blackened ruin of his body…. She keened her grief, the high thin sound lost in the rush of the wind.

The hours passed in an endless numb haze, until at last she was dimly aware of the guard transport slowing, and lifted her head to see the duracrete walls of Jabba's compound rising before them. A hangar door rumbled open, and the transport pulled inside. Shmi dimly recognized the garage from which she and Kern had made their escape.

Too tired and desolate to resist, Shmi submitted meekly as one guard shoved shackles onto her wrists and the other poked her ahead of him out of the transport. She plodded along between them as her captors ushered her through the halls of the compound. Slaves pointed and stared as they passed, some sympathetic, some mocking, but all afraid. This was what Jabba wanted them to see: the inevitable fate of any slave who dared dream of freedom. The lucky ones, at least.

Shmi was shaking with tiredness and fear as they approached Jabba's main hall. Would the Hutt have her executed? She'd heard he was especially fond of feeding those who displeased him to one of his pet monsters. True, there was a part of her that longed for death, that wanted nothing more than silence and peace and release from the pain that enveloped her. Perhaps even, if the universe was kind, a chance to be with Kern again. But Kern's child lived inside her, and it had been his last wish that she protect that trust. Besides, attractive as the abstract concept of death might be, the vivid mental pictures that assaulted her of being crunched between some carnivore's jaws were horrifying, so she shook with terror as her guards dragged her before Jabba where he reclined on his couch.

She stumbled to a halt, and one of her guards shoved her to the ground. She fell to her hands and knees, and he placed his foot in the small of her back and forced her prostrate on the floor.

"Well done," Jabba's deep voice rumbled in Huttese. "The man is dead?"

"Yes, lord."

"Good, good." Shmi felt the floor shake as he shifted his weight, leaning forward to study her. "Stand her up."

The Gammoreans lifted her to her feet, and turned her at Jabba's direction so he could study her from every angle. He rumbled thoughtfully to himself as he examined her. At length he came to a decision. "Plain, and too scrawny, but she'll do. Take her and have her fixed up, then bring her back to me."

The guards dragged Shmi from the room, through the corridors to an unfamiliar part of the compound. They deposited her in a room where a hard-faced woman sat stitching at a pile of gaudily colored fabric. She rose and studied Shmi appraisingly while the guards took up stations on either side of the door.

"So Jabba's taken a fancy to you, hmm?" The woman frowned. "You're not his usual type, but I'll have something here that will work, I expect." She rummaged through the racks that lined all the walls of the room. The costumes there seemed to run heavily to leather and metal, but not a great deal of either. Every now and then the woman glanced over her shoulder at Shmi, sometimes holding up an outfit, then shaking her head and returning to her search. "You're a little one, aren't you? Not at all what Jabba usually sends me. Ah ha, here's something that should fit."

She held up a few scraps of fabric stiff with golden metal curlicues. "Off with those clothes now, hurry up. Get into this."

Shmi looked around for a private alcove in which to change, but there was none. The woman glared at her in irritation and gestured for her to hurry. Burning with humiliation, Shmi removed the dockworker's jumpsuit that only that morning had seemed such a hopeful disguise, along with her underwear, and struggled to pull on the offered garments quickly to cover her nakedness. Not that they hid much. After the woman had fastened the clasps in the back and fussed with the falls of sheer fabric that gave the illusion of a skirt until they draped to her satisfaction, Shmi still felt mortified by her bareness. She shivered at the cool touch of air brushing her exposed belly and buttocks.

"Not too bad," the woman muttered, viewing her handiwork. She sat Shmi down on a stool and painted her face with garish makeup, humming tunelessly to herself as she worked. She combed out Shmi's long hair and twisted and braided it into an elaborate coif. She put golden bangles on Shmi's wrist and upper arm, and soft leather boots on her feet. As a last touch, she squirted Shmi with a foul-smelling perfume that made Shmi cough and sneeze. She stood back, regarded Shmi with her head cocked to one side for a long moment, then huffed, resigned. "You'll have to do, I suppose."

She reached for what Shmi assumed was a necklace, its heavy gold curves matching the rest of the outfit, and settled it around Shmi's neck. But then the woman took up a long length of sturdy chain, and clipped the end at Shmi's throat to what she realized with horror was actually a collar.

"We're done," the woman called to the guards, and tossed one of them the end of the chain. He jerked it, and laughed as Shmi stumbled off balance, choking. He set off at a brisk pace, and Shmi had to scramble to keep up lest she fall and be dragged.

They took her back to Jabba, and turned her before him for his inspection. He eyed her, a prurient gleam lighting his eyes, and Shmi's disgust and humiliation almost overwhelmed her fear. The guard fastened the chain to a ring at the base of Jabba's couch and handed it to Jabba. The giant slug tugged at it experimentally, and Shmi was propelled forward to collapse against the soft, squishy folds of his vast bulk. She gagged at the stench as his breath washed over her. His wide mouth cracked open and his thick triangular tongue protruded, reaching out to caress her face, leave a trail of viscous slime in its wake.

"You are a bold one, seeking to escape me." The vibrations of his voice quivered through his flesh into Shmi. "Boldness appeals to me. I find it very… stimulating."

All the terror and grief and pain that had been building in Shmi erupted into an intense and violent rage at the Hutt. She launched herself at him, kicking, biting, flailing her arms, tearing with her fingernails, consumed with desire to hurt, to injure, to kill.

"Oh, ho, ho, ho," he chortled, plucking her easily away by the chain, holding it high so she was nearly pulled off her feet, half strangled. "I can see I'm going to enjoy you."

He manipulated the chain expertly, dragging her down until she fell against him. He let her lie there, shaking with helpless anger, while he turned to the gathered spectators who had been watching with avid interest.

"How do you like my new trinket?" A roar of approval answered his words. Jabba gestured. "Music!" The instrumentalists struck up a blaring tune, the singers screeching in some language Shmi didn't understand. Jabba turned his attention back to the entertainment, only idly yanking the chain on occasion, as if to remind her of his power over her.

Shmi huddled there, drawing herself as much as possible away from the repellant softness of Jabba's side. For a while she was numb, unwilling to let the full horror of her position sink in. But gradually, over the course of that long afternoon, and the equally long days and nights that followed, she learned what she must endure.

The chain was never removed from around her neck. Food was thrown to her whenever Jabba and his retinue were fed, and they all took great amusement watching her scramble to retrieve the scattered bits. Sometimes she was given water in a bowl on the floor like an animal and made to lap it up, while other times she would be forced to perform humiliating tricks before a cup would be placed in her hands. At irregular intervals a guard would drag her off to the 'fresher. Most nights Jabba commanded the endless revelry to continue long after dark, until he drifted off to sleep there on his couch and those who attended him could slump against the walls and lean against each other, snatching a few hours of rest until the Hutt woke and commanded them once again to amuse him. On the occasions when the Hutt left his compound, to attend the pod races or to conduct business, Shmi was led to a tiny cell where her chain was fastened to a bolt in the wall, and she remained until Jabba returned and called for her.

Bad as her treatment was, even worse for Shmi was her inner torment. She was wracked with guilt over Kern's death. She replayed the events leading up to the disaster in the docking bay over and over in her mind, finding a thousand things she should have done differently. If only she had refused to go after Lani, and persuaded Kern the danger was too great for him to go either. If only she had remembered to put up her hood, or taken a different route, or left Lani a few minutes earlier or later. If only she had found the strength to overpower Darna. If only she had submitted to Darna, and allowed herself to be recaptured, and left Kern free. If only they had stayed hidden, and let the ship leave without them, and taken their chances with the search that would surely have followed. If only they had not tried to run, but surrendered immediately to the guards. If only….

The only things that kept her from dissolving into despair, kept her fighting despite her shame for the food and water and sleep that would allow her to survive, were her ferocious, smoldering hatred of Jabba, and her gradually rounding belly. Waves of overwhelming emotion often swept over her, threatening to tear away her fragile hold on sanity, and she turned their destructive force instinctively outward toward her tormentor rather than let them crash in upon herself. Anger was so much safer to feel than grief.

She pinned all her hopes on her pregnancy. It had been nearly three months now since she conceived. At some point simple economic interest would force Jabba to abandon his humiliation of her and sell her to Rinadda for the generous profit the child would bring. She cupped her hand surreptitiously against the soft swell of her womb and dreamed of the infant to come. She could spend many hours lost in the anticipation of a warm, heavy weight in her arms, a wide, eager mouth nuzzling her breast, bright, adoring eyes gazing up at her. Would it be a boy with Kern's tousled blonde hair, or a girl with her dark braids? Would her eyes be golden green like Lani's or warm brown the way she remembered her mother's? Would he laugh like Kern, or would she recognize in him his father's pensive moodiness?

She refused to consider the likelihood that the baby would be taken from her after only a few months. Someone would just have to buy them both, was all. Darna had said that sometimes happened. She could not bear to consider any other possibility.

Every week or two, when her body had become so filthy even Jabba took notice, she was dragged off for a bath and to have her skimpy costumed exchanged for another. They would not even let her bathe alone, but at least the attendant assigned to oversee her was female. After a few weeks she learned to look forward to these times as one of the only moments of pleasure she was afforded.

She gratefully stripped off the offensive garments and threw them at the feet of the attendant. As the woman picked them up, Shmi stepped into the shower, luxuriating in the warmth of the water, though the amount allotted to her was tiny. She had finished her first wetting and was reaching for the soap when the attendant made a face.

"Eww." The woman dropped the lower portion of Shmi's costume on the floor, and rummaged in a cabinet. "Here, you'll need these."

She set something atop the pile of waiting fresh clothes, and turned, bored, to wait for Shmi to finish. Shmi took little notice until, reluctantly wiping away the last bits of her water ration, she went to dress herself. There, waiting with her costume, was a pile of the standard issue supplies the slave women were given to deal with their monthly cycles.

Shmi felt cold all over. She glanced at the attendant, who was staring uninterestedly in the other direction, and bent to snatch up the bit of clothing the other woman had dropped. The garnet fabric was stained with a patch of bright red blood.

Shmi closed her eyes, wrapping her arms around her belly protectively. _It's nothing. Many women bleed during pregnancy. It doesn't necessarily mean anything. _But cold fingers of fear clutched her heart.

Numbly she made use of the supplies, and was returned to Jabba's chamber. Over the next few days the blood would slow and stop, and she would weep for joy, then it would start again and she would plummet into despair.

Nearly a week later, Jabba was playing one of his favorite games with her, requiring her to submit to being fondled in exchange for a drink of water. She held out as long as she could, but her mouth was dry and chalky, and it was starting to hurt to swallow, so she finally gave in. She closed her eyes and endured his repellant touch. Without warning, a cramp started deep in her belly and radiated around to her back. It held her in the grip of pain for a moment, then as suddenly as it had come it was gone.

"No," she whispered. She barely noticed that Jabba had finished and had thrust the cup of water into her hands, but she raised it and drank thirstily. She handed the cup back and resumed her normal reclining position, almost convinced that the pain had been no more than a passing twinge, when it hit her again, worse this time. She curled up, gasping, until it was over. A trickle of blood ran down the inside of her leg.

She leapt to her feet, swept by rage. "No," she cried, throwing herself at Jabba. "You can't do this to me! Not my baby, too! I hate you!" She managed to claw a long gash that oozed green blood before the astonished Jabba was able to react and pull her away by her chain. Even then she kept struggling until another wave of pain hit her and she collapsed, sobbing.

Guards dragged her off to the infirmary, where a medical droid examined her with cool mechanical efficiency. "No detectable fetal heartbeat," the droid told the guards. "She is having a miscarriage. Quite common at this stage of pregnancy. Usually there's no obvious cause, and nothing can be done to prevent it. I will perform a procedure to hasten the process, but it will be at least a full day before she can return to her duties."

Shmi closed her eyes. She lay, cold and empty, while the droid tended her

When it was over, the droid had her moved to a soft, comfortable bed in an alcove off the infirmary. It brought her a small glass of water and a large pill. "Take this. It will help you sleep and recover. There were no complications; this will not interfere with your ability to conceive again. You should be just fine when you wake up."

Shmi didn't bother to tell him that she would never be fine again. She swallowed the sedative, wishing only it would allow her to sleep forever.


	17. Chapter 17

**Chapter 17**

Jabba jerked impatiently at her chain. "Girl! I have water for you, girl! Get up!"

Shmi looked listlessly up at him. She vaguely registered the cup in his hand. She swallowed, and her throat was swollen and scratchy, but she couldn't bring herself to care. Eventually the pressure of the collar on her neck dragged her to her feet, and she stood unprotesting as the Hutt's sticky hands and slimy tongue made free with her body. When at length the cup was placed in her hands, she drank, and then dropped again to curl into a huddled ball, wishing only that they would leave her alone.

"Bah!" Jabba spat on her in disgust, but even the slime sliding down the back of her neck failed to provoke a reaction. "This one's no good any more. She was such a feisty thing, too. I hoped she would last a bit longer than usual, but they're all the same. Take her away; put her back in with the other slaves."

Her guards dragged Shmi off. She was stripped of her fancy costume and stuffed into slave rags. She watched in a detached daze, as if it were happening to someone else.

She plodded along through the compound behind her guards. She barely noticed her surroundings until they stopped, and she looked up to recognize the familiar environs of the slave kitchen.

"This used to be one of yours, didn't it?" the guard demanded.

The head cook regarded her in resigned appraisal. "Yes, I suppose. She was a good enough worker, but rebellious. Looks like that may have been beaten out of her, at least." He gestured to a sack of purple roots, and shoved a peeler into Shmi's hands. "Well, get to work, girl."

Automatically Shmi began to peel the roots, which another slave snatched from her as soon as she was finished to chop and dump into the stewpot. The head cook swept away to oversee other matters, and the ordinary buzz of gossip and laughter picked up around Shmi. She had an eerie feeling that she was waking from a dream. She was back exactly where she had started, and nothing had changed, except her. There was no external evidence that the momentous events that had engraved themselves in her heart and memory had ever actually happened.

The fantasy had a bizarre appeal, so she played along with it in her imagination. Today was her first day under her new owner, and she strove with naïve anxiety to please. Mealtime arrived, and hungry slaves lined up. She bore the first bowl of stew from the pot to the serving counter, heart racing.

The stranger at the head of the line was dark haired and quiet. He looked through Shmi without seeing her as he took the bowl of stew and walked away.

Shmi bent to her task and served bowl after bowl. At length she realized she could barely see what she was doing for the tears clouding her eyes, and she swiped at them impatiently with her sleeve.

When it came her turn to eat, she took her bowl and sat among the chatting, laughing slaves. She picked at the stew, but could summon no appetite. When the woman sitting next to her asked if she planned to finish, she shook her head mutely and shoved the bowl over. She rose and made her way back to the deserted kitchen.

A small, sharp knife lay abandoned among vegetable peels and trimmings on the counter. It glinted in the sunlight slanting in from the high windows, attracting Shmi's gaze. She drifted over and stood looking down at it. Gradually she became aware that her heart had begun to race, and her breathing had become quick and shallow.

Surreptitiously she looked around, and seeing no one, she picked up the knife and studied it, considering the possibilities. Just a little pain, insignificant compared to what she'd already suffered, and it could all be over….

Approaching footsteps startled her, and she thrust the knife into her apron pocket. She wanted privacy. She turned reluctantly but inevitably to the door that led out to the courtyard. What better place than there, after all? Amidst the withered brown stems that were all that remained of love and hope that had once shone bright as stars and fresh as raindrops?

A surge of determination, the first real active emotion she'd felt since she'd lost the baby, pushed her into motion. She shoved the door open and slipped through. The brilliant light of the suns dazzled her eyes, and she blinked as she moved purposefully toward the back corner where she and Kern had found a haven together.

As she came closer her steps faltered. Though she knew what she must inevitably see, still she was reluctant to look. She drew the knife forth and took courage from the feel of it, hard in her hand. Staring resolutely ahead, she marched forward.

Finally she could delay no longer, and steeling herself, she looked down at the tumble of rocks at the base of the wall. She drew in her breath in shock and stumbled forward the last few steps, to fall on her knees, the knife tumbling from nerveless fingers.

She reached a trembling hand to touch the soft, starred green carpet that spread before her. Not all the flowers had survived; there were scattered patches as sere and dead as she had imagined. But for the most part the little weeds had thrived even without their daily dose of water, and white and gold blooms tossed their heads in the hot breeze as cheerfully defiant as they had been on the day of her wedding.

Shmi sank to the ground, and all the sorrow she had tried to bury swept up and flooded her. She sobbed, her body shaking uncontrollably.

Kern's words echoed in her heart. _It's tougher than it looks. It still clings to life. Something inside it won't give up that easily._

_I thought of you, when I saw it. Still alive, still fighting to live, after all it's been through._

"No! You were wrong!" She didn't even realize she'd spoken aloud. "I'm not that strong. I don't want to fight anymore. You didn't understand how awful it would be. You don't know what it feels like…"

She faltered, for that wasn't quite true. Kern had known what it felt like to lose someone he loved. His sister had died by her own hand. He had borne the guilt of giving her the weapon she used. And still he could say those words to her. Still he could value the unquenchable spark of life he had thought he had seen in her.

_If anything should happen to me, promise me you won't do anything foolish. You have to take care of yourself and the little one. That's all that matters to me._

"I couldn't take care of him, Kern. I tried, but there was nothing I could do. I can't bear losing him, and you, Kern. I can't. I don't want to…"

The little gold and white flowers danced in silent reproach.

"Do you want me to live like this? Why? What purpose could it possibly serve, to go on, hurting this way? Why, Kern? Why should I have to? Why can't I just come and join you, and our child? I want… I want to…."

Again, the lie in her words stopped her. She threw herself forward and lay among the flowers, breathing in their green fragrance. She didn't want to die. She wanted the pain to stop, but to willingly surrender the life they had all fought so hard to keep seemed suddenly a desecration, a rejection of everything she and Kern had ever believed in.

She wept, shuddering. "I can't do it alone, Kern. I can't face being alone…"

_I love you, Shmi. I'll always love you._

For a long time she cried, until she felt drained of all emotion. Then she lay quiet. But eventually she could stay there no longer.

Slowly she pushed herself to her knees. She picked up the knife and tucked it with a shudder into her pocket. She climbed to her feet and looked around.

"Help me, Kern. You'll have to help me, if I'm going to be able to do this."

She turned back toward the door. Probably a beating awaited her, for she'd once again lingered far past time to report back to work.

But for some reason the head cook ignored her tardiness, and merely gestured for her to resume her place. She put the knife back in the drawer where it belonged, and picked up the first of the huge pile of dirty dishes.

The following weeks and months were lonely and difficult for Shmi. Often she wept, alone in her bed at night, back in the same alcove where Kern had joined her and they had shared their love together. Often the days seemed to drag in endless monotony. Often she questioned why she bothered to keep on, and looked with longing at the drawer where the knife rested. But somewhere she found the determination to keep going, to sleep each night and wake up each morning. And gradually, as time passed, it became just a little bit easier.

Eventually she was able to look at those around her and reach out for human contact with them. Irneeto no longer stood guard over the slave quarters at night; he'd been replaced by an ever-changing series of humans and aliens. When Shmi questioned her fellow slaves, they told her he had vanished the same night Shmi and Kern had made their escape. Shmi missed him, but was glad he had given Jabba the slip and not had to endure his wrath. She wished him well, wherever he was. Maybe someday he would be able to return to his home on Mordant after all.

Slowly, painfully, she made a few friends among the other slave women. No one particularly close, but a few she could chat with in line for the 'fresher in the morning, or sit with at mealtime. Even a few who would play sabaac with her, after she scrounged a bit of discarded paper and made herself a deck.

On such foundations she rebuilt her life. It was a pale imitation of what she once had, and far from what she had hoped for, but she was alive, and could smile, and even sometimes laugh, and that would have to be enough. Daily she made her pilgrimage out to the courtyard and the patch of flowers. She sprinkled the libation from her cup, and spoke to Kern about her struggles and successes, and renewed her determination to survive.

At length a certain date arrived. She had been dreading it, and for the week beforehand had become progressively more quiet and withdrawn. Her new friends wisely left her alone, only offering a little quiet reassurance now and then. That morning when she woke, she remembered what this day should have held, and it was as if all her pain was fresh again. When she emerged from her alcove her eyes were red, and the other woman gave her a careful distance, lest her temper, which erupted at rare unpredictable intervals against random targets, should be directed against one of them.

She brought her cup of water out into the courtyard after her meal. She poured it out, and sat silently for a long time watching the flowers. Finally, she spoke.

"Our baby would have been born today, Kern. Or yesterday, or tomorrow – sometime close to now. I miss him, Kern, so much. I so wanted to be a mother. I would have loved it, I think, having a child to hold, to love, to take care of. I dream of it sometimes, even of changing diapers, and cleaning up spit up, and walking with him when he cries and nothing will comfort him. I would have been such a good mother, Kern, and now I'll never get the chance. I feel so… empty…"

She stared blindly into the distance. After a while she shook herself, and returned to the kitchen and her duties.

But that night lying awake in bed, the grief for her lost child swept over her again, and she cupped her hands over the emptiness of her womb that once had been filled, and wept. She longed, with an intensity that twisted her guts in knots, to someday, somehow, experience again the blossoming of life within her, to know again the wonder of love given physical form, to fulfill this time the course which had before been cut cruelly short. Spirit and body wrapped in aching, burning desire, she slipped into sleep.

And she dreamed.

Two robed figures, their faces obscured by deep black hoods, stepped into a round stone room. The walls were smooth polished marble, mottled black inlaid with dark red flames. The room was bare except for a block of white stone in the center, like an altar, or an operating table.

The shorter, broader figure turned to the other, inhumanly tall and slender. "Master, will you tell me now what you intend to do? You have instructed me on the preparations to be made, and I have done all you asked, but to what purpose? You cannot expect me to learn unless you teach me."

"Patience, my apprentice." The taller figure spoke with detached amusement. "I promise, all will be made clear before the night is over. Perhaps even your endless thirst for knowledge of the Dark Side might be quenched, for tonight you will be privileged to assist me in a task greater than any before undertaken."

The apprentice put back his hood, revealing a human face, a man of middle years with a beaked nose and reddish sandy hair. He regarded his master with avid interest. "What task, Master?"

The other paused, tantalizing his apprentice by his silence. But soon he relented, a trace of excitement escaping the careful control he kept over his voice. "Tonight, we call into existence the Sith'ari."

The apprentice's eyes opened wide for a moment, then narrowed, and he frowned. "Master, how is this possible? You have taught me that the Sith'ari is a being foretold by prophecy. How can anything we do influence the time of his coming?"

"This has been my life's work, apprentice, to discover how it might be done. It has led me down strange and twisted paths, into secret depths of the Force where no Sith has ever before ventured. At times I despaired, and thought myself deceived by a fool's quest. But we are not like the Jedi, who sit passively and wait for the coming of their prophesied Chosen One. The Sith have always chosen to forge our own destiny, to pilot with our own hands the ship of our fate, to bend the Force to our own will. So I persevered, and in the end, I triumphed. I know now how it must be done. I have been preparing the proper circumstances for years. And tonight, all will come to fruition. Tonight we will create the being who will rise up and lead the Sith to rule the galaxy!"

"But master, does not the prophecy also say that in the process, he will destroy the Sith?"

The master turned and drew himself up into a forbidding shadow that loomed over his apprentice. "There can be no creation without destruction. Are you afraid?"

The apprentice shrank back. "No, my master."

"Good." The master stepped to the table in the center of the room, and laid his long, slender hands flat on it. His voice took on a remote, sing-song quality. "For that is the heart of the matter. Life feeds on death, and death on life, and only in the collapse of a star can a black hole be born. Somewhere in the galaxy tonight, a female who has been touched by death yearns for life. The Midi-chlorians cluster thick around her, for they crave to fulfill her longing. It is their purpose to create life, and her desire draws them. Not much is needed to open a path for them. In the ordinary course of events, a single sperm cell would be enough. But that would only hold the gap open a moment, enough for a handful of Midi-chlorians to slip across. Occasionally the bridge holds a bit longer, and a few more pour in, enough to give the child created a sensitivity to the Force. But tonight the Midi-chlorians are doomed to fail, and the female will remain barren. Unless we act."

The apprentice's voice remained respectful, but there was an edge of petulance in it. "I don't understand, master. I thought the Dark Side fed on death. How can it be used to create life?"

"Haven't you listened to what I've been telling you? What are death and life but nightside and dayside of the same planet?" The master sighed in frustration. "How can I make this clear to you? You are familiar with the new Master the Jedi have just appointed to their Council?"

"Yes."

"You know that he is renowned among them for creating a new form of lightsaber combat. Vaapad, he calls it."

"I know of it, yes."

"Do you know also what is so revolutionary about it?"

The apprentice bowed his head, a trace of sullenness in his voice. "No, my master."

"This Jedi has learned to tread close to the border between light and dark. There is power there, in the place where they meet. If one dares venture dangerously close, and risk being drawn across that line, one can tap a far greater potential than is found in either light or dark alone. This Jedi has learned a minor variation of that art. But he does not truly understand it; not the way I in my studies have come to."

The apprentice leaned closer. "You will instruct me in this mystery?"

"That is my intention. It shall be your last lesson, for after tonight, you will know all I have to teach you."

The apprentice's eyes lit for the briefest instant with predatory joy, concealed by his meekly bowing head, and quickly veiled. "Thank you, my master." His features once again schooled to obedient interest, he cocked his head. "So, if I understand you correctly, the Sith'ari will be conceived as child? And you do not know where in the galaxy the woman – do you even know of which species? – who will host the dark power is located?"

The master waved a hand. "That is of no consequence."

"But how will we know who he is? How will we find him, to instruct him in his destiny?"

"He will find his way to us. If he is born within the Republic, most likely the Jedi will identify him and bring him to their Temple. Or perhaps we will find him first, and can raise him, as you have done with your pet Zabrak. But even if neither of those things come to pass, such power cannot remain hidden, and in time he will reveal himself."

The apprentice's brows drew together. "The Jedi could claim him? But might he not then become a great enemy?"

The master laughed. "What sweet irony, is it not, that they might nurture their own destruction? But try as they might to direct his heart to the light, they are doomed to fail. He will be a creature of the dark side; he will have no choice but to turn to us. It would be best if it indeed plays out that way, for as I explained, there is great power in the boundary between light and dark, and never more so than in the crossing of it. When he abandons the light to join the dark, he will bring us such power as the Sith have never before controlled."

The apprentice slowly nodded. "I begin to understand, master." He pondered in silence a moment. "And this woman – I do not understand how she was chosen, or how you know tonight is the time she will draw the Midi-chlorians to her."

The master smiled, smugly superior. "Oh, at any given moment, among all the trillions of beings in the galaxy, any number of females are experiencing the proper emotions to make them suitable subjects. Our working will simply locate the one who at that instant happens to be attracting the Midi-chlorians most strongly."

"Ah, I see." Again the apprentice mused over what he had been told. Finally he looked up at his master, an almost innocent eagerness lighting his face. "What will he be like, master?"

"He will be wonderful and terrible, apprentice." The master looked off into the distance, anticipation strong in his voice. "The ranks of the Jedi will fall before him like ripe grain to the harvest. He will bring slaughter to a multitude of worlds, and the dark side will drink deeply of death. With his victims' every cry, the Sith will grow stronger, and their fear and pain will swell our power a thousandfold. It will be a glorious time, my apprentice, the consummation of untold generations of toil. He will lead us to unimaginable heights of power, he will crush the galaxy beneath his heel, and we will hold unchallenged dominion over it forever."

Eyes shining, the apprentice contemplated the vision of the future. "Then let us begin, master."

The master bowed his head in acquiescence. "Let us begin."

He stepped to the doorway, and opened it. "Bring her in."

A servant droid led a child into the room, a slender, pretty, Muun girl, clad in a plain tunic. She followed obediently. When she spied the two cloaked figures, her face lit up, and she ran across the room to clasp the master around the knees. "Adda!" she cried happily.

The master knelt and put an arm around her. "Welcome, dearest."

The girl hugged him. "I missed you, Adda. Will you play with me? Will you show me your pretty red light again?"

"I will." He rose, grasped her beneath the arms and hoisted her up to sit on the stone block. "But first, dearest, wait here a moment, please, while I speak with my friend."

"Yes, Adda." The child swung her legs and beat her heels playfully against the hard stone.

The master stepped back and laid his hand on the apprentice's arm, and together they withdrew to the edge of the room. The apprentice gave up any attempt to hide his confusion. "Who is she, master, and what has she to do with our working tonight?"

"She is its heart, my apprentice." The master turned and gazed at the waiting girl. "She is a child of my own body. Her mother died by my hand in the hour of her birth. I have raised her. I have allowed her to love me, and by this have let myself be drawn perilously close to the boundary where light meets dark."

The apprentice turned to look at the girl. He turned back to his master, breath quickening, focused intently, on the verge of understanding some great truth. "Why, master?" he whispered.

"Because only in this way could I access the power I will need. Only in this way can I tear the veil between life and death open wide enough for the Midi-chlorians to pour across in vast numbers, and create a being powerful enough to bear the destiny of the galaxy. Only by walking close, close to the borderline, and exposing myself to the full temptation of the Light."

The master folded hands that shook just a little before him, and bowed his head. His voice sank to a barely audible whisper. "Only by allowing myself to love her."

He stepped forward to the altar. He extended one hand, and the girl was pushed flat on her back by an invisible force. She gave a cry of surprise, and looked at him in trusting puzzlement. "Adda? What are you doing?"

A lightsaber appeared in his other hand, and blossomed into life, its scarlet glow lighting the girl's face and reflecting in the master's eyes, deep within his hood. He raised it, and held it vertical in the air, hilt up, point down, directly above the girl.

His voice was strained. "Apprentice, do you remember all that I have instructed you, and know what you must do?"

"Yes, master," the apprentice breathed. His face was suffused with a glow of deep wonder. "I understand."

"Good. Now is the time." The master raised his other hand to the lightsaber hilt, and both hands clutched it fiercely tight, trembling.

The apprentice moved to the altar, and placed his hands flat on the stone, on either side of the girl's head. He bowed his head, and closed his eyes in concentration.

For the first time fear dawned in the girl's face, and she cried out. "Adda, I don't like this! I'm scared. Adda, please, help me!"

The master gazed into the child's wide, terrified eyes. The red reflections within the hood vanished as he closed his eyes. He drew a deep breath, and plunged the lightsaber down, plummeting towards the girl's heart.

Across the galaxy, Shmi's body convulsed in pain, and she screamed.


	18. Chapter 18

Well, we've reached the end of our journey. I'd like to thank everyone who's come along for the ride. You have all been wonderfully encouraging and supportive. I hope you have enjoyed reading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it!

goofycaffinatedguru asked for a note of clarification on the last chapter. Since the vision is from Shmi's point of view, and she has no idea who these people are or what's going on, it was meant to be confusing. So if you were confused, don't feel bad; that was exactly the effect I was going for! But I tried to put in enough clues that the reader, who has a lot more background knowlege than Shmi, could figure it out if they wanted to. The master is Darth Plagueis, and the apprentice is Palpatine/Darth Sidious. Darth Plagueis's daughter is my own OC creation. The prophecy of the Sith'ari is canon; I believe it comes originally from the game Knights of the Old Republic. Whether or not it refers to Anakin is an unanswered question. George has raised the possibility that Anakin was created by the Sith - "He could even influence the midi-chlorians to create life..." - but has left the truth of what actually happened carefully ambiguous. This is my version of what I think might have happened.

FF dot net won't let me post links, but if you search Wookiepedia for "Darth Plagueis" and "Sith'ari" you can find out more about what's canon and what fans have speculated.

**Chapter 18**

Shmi sat straight up in bed, heart pounding, staring blindly into the darkness, the dying echoes of her scream in her ears. Her hands went to her belly, smooth and untouched under her fingers, though it still burned as if a fiery beam of energy had pierced it.

"No," she whispered, loud in the silence. "No, it can't be. Not me. I won't help you create your monster. No matter how much I want a child."

She shook her head. The pain in her belly was fading. She blinked a few times, and breathed deeply to slow her racing heart.

It was just a nightmare. More vivid and real than any she had experienced before, but still just a creation of her subconscious mind. She lay back down, and forced herself to relax, until finally she sank again into restless slumber.

She lay on her back on the cold slab of stone, surrounded by the flame-emblazoned walls of the round room. She struggled to sit up, but some invisible power held her immobile.

Her eyes could move, and she strained to see as much as she could. The two dark figures were nowhere to be seen, but they might be lurking just out of her sight. Even if they'd left the room they might return at any moment. She fought against her bonds, but they were implacable, and she gave up, exhausted.

She closed her eyes. The stone was hard under her shoulders, its chill draining the warmth from her body. Silence surrounded her. She whispered, "Help me, someone, please… Kern…"

Gradually she became aware of warmth growing beside her. She opened her eyes and saw a faint blue glow that slowly increased, brighter and brighter until it dazzled her. At its heart a blurry figure became visible, which sharpened until she could recognize in the translucent features the face she had ached for so long to see. "Kern!"

A whisper of warm wind brushed her cheek like a gentle caress. "Beloved."

His presence grew more solid and real, and his eyes focused on her. "I am that part of the Force that was once Kern Bluesand." His voice echoed strangely. "The Force speaks and acts through me. The servants of the dark side have shrouded this place with thick curtains of defense and deception, to hide their evil deeds. But you called to me from within their fastness, and our love for each other has opened a path for the light to enter."

Shmi tried to nod. "They've done something to me, Kern. There were two of them, all hooded and dark, and one of them murdered a girl, he said it was his daughter, and I think somehow that made me pregnant, except it's going to be some kind of awful monster that will destroy the galaxy. Can you do something, can you stop it? Please…"

She knew her babbling made no sense, but Kern nodded in understanding. He moved close to her side and laid his hands flat on her belly. He closed his eyes and stood for a long time, and to Shmi it seemed as if he were searching deep within her, studying the currents of past and future.

Finally his eyes opened and looked into hers, and he spoke. "It is true. Their plan has succeeded. A child has been conceived, filled with all the power of the Dark Side, and even now grows within you. I cannot undo what has been done."

Shmi shuddered. "I didn't ask for this, Kern, I swear. I wanted a baby, but I couldn't know that would make it possible for them to do this to me. I was so selfish…

"No." He stroked her hair, a soft breeze stirring the strands. "If they hadn't used you, it would have been someone else. You bear no guilt for what has happened this night."

Shmi clung to his words for comfort. "But it is my responsibility now, isn't it? I can't just let them succeed without trying to stop them." Though it sickened her to think about, she knew there were actions she could take. "I'll go to the medical droid, and… and have it aborted. Or, once it's born, no matter how evil it is, it will just be a helpless newborn… I can… I can…"

Kern shushed her, shaking his head. "Even now its power is great enough that any such attempt would be doomed to fail."

She stared at him, heart pounding. "My own life, then. It can't live without me, not yet. I have a way…"

"Oh, Shmi." His insubstantial hand brushed at the tears starting in her eyes. "They had no idea what they were getting into when they involved you in their plans. But they have guarded him well. Even in sacrificing your own life, you would be stopped, or the attempt would fail."

Despair swept Shmi, and she closed her eyes. "It's hopeless, then."

"No." He clasped his hands over hers, and she felt them as a delicious warmth spreading through her body. "There is a way, but it will require enormous courage and strength on your part. Even more, perhaps, than you have already offered. A great evil is at work in the galaxy. By chance you have become a pawn in their game, but their strategy can be turned back against them, and their hope of triumph become their defeat, if you are willing to do what is required."

Shmi thought of the girl's terror at her beloved father's betrayal, and the red lightsaber plunging down. "Anything."

Kern nodded, and moved his hands again to her belly. "This much I can do. I can grant him good in equal measure to the evil they have placed within him, so that he will always have the choice between light and dark. He will have the potential to become as great a force for good as they planned for him to be for evil. Even if he should fall into the darkness, it need not be forever, for love will always be able to reach him, no matter how deeply he sleeps, and wake him again to the light."

Kern's eyes burned into hers, and Shmi felt herself falling into their depths. "Bear this child, Shmi. Open your heart to him. Raise him, and love him, and teach him to love, for love will doom him, and love will save him, and through him the galaxy…."

Tears streamed down Shmi's face. "I'll try. I'll do my best."

"That is all that can be asked of anyone." He closed his eyes. His hands on her belly glowed, and the light spread until it enveloped her body, a sparkling, shimmering blue that grew brighter and lighter until it blazed into the white-hot fire of a star's heart. Then with a dazzling flash, it was gone.

"It is done." His hands fell to his sides.

Shmi found the bonds that had held her were gone, and she sat up. The light around him was fading, and he was growing fainter and more translucent. "Don't leave me, Kern!"

His beloved grin flashed, lighting up his face, and for a moment she could see him perfectly clearly. "I'll never leave you, Shmi. I'll always be with you. Your grief doesn't have to imprison you, Shmi. I want you to live, and love, and be filled with joy, until in the fullness of time we are together forever in the Force."

"Yes," she whispered, and reached for him, and felt his warmth return her embrace, filling up the emptiness in her heart, sparkling tender on her lips.

She woke, still feeling his warmth, unless it was from the sunlight that fell through the tiny window and shone on her face. For a long time she lay, savoring the beauty of the dream, a blessing after the horror of her nightmare.

Too soon the morning klaxon sounded, and she got up from bed. But before she dressed, she laid her hands on her belly, wondering. Did a newly conceived child, fated to destroy or save the galaxy, rest there, or had it all been no more than a dream?

Only time would tell.

* * *

Anakin's voice was insistent. "What happened after that, Mom?"

Shmi blinked, and shook her head. "What? I'm sorry; I lost my train of thought for a moment. The story reminded me of something. Where was I?"

"The good fairy just said she can't undo the curse on the princess."

"Oh. Yes." Shmi took a deep breath, and continued the tale.

"The queen bowed her head. 'It is hopeless, then.'

"But the good fairy shook her head. 'No. This much I can do. When she burns her finger, the princess will not die, but fall into an enchanted sleep. She will lie in a sleep like death for many years, until one comes who can look with compassion on her, and wake her from her slumber.'

"The king and queen had to be content with this. But they made a decree, that all candles should be banished from the realm. After that, the people of that kingdom got their light only from the sun, and by night all was darkness save the moon and the stars.

"The years passed, and the princess grew into a lovely young woman, just as was foretold. At length she fell in love with the prince of a neighboring kingdom, and they were wed. They built a beautiful castle where they lived in great joy. The princess conceived a child, and the day drew near when she would give birth.

"One night the princess was restless, and could not sleep. She rose from her bed and wandered the halls of the castle. From a door ahead of her she saw shining a light as warm and yellow as that of the sun, and she was amazed, for she had never seen fire before. She hurried to the room, and found there an old woman sitting, robed and hooded in black, and before her on a table burned a single candle.

"The princess was enchanted by the beautiful dancing flame, and in her innocence she reached out to touch the lovely thing. But the fire scorched her fingertip. She cried out, and fell at once into a deep sleep.

"So great was the power of the curse that all the other inhabitants of the castle fell also into the enchanted slumber. The next day, the King's oldest and most trusted knight returned from a journey, and found the castle bound up in the spell. The guards were asleep at their posts by the door, the cooks were asleep in the kitchen, the maids had fallen asleep in the midst of cleaning. The king and queen, who had been visiting, were asleep in the guest room. And in his bedroom the prince was asleep in his bed, and could not be roused. The knight searched, and found the princess lying alone on the floor of an empty room. He carried her to her bed and laid her beside her husband.

"While remaining fast asleep, the princess went into labor and gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. The knight took the children away from the sleeping castle and gave them to a farmer and his wife in the nearby countryside to raise, never revealing their true identity.

"Many years passed. A thick hedge of briars grew up around the castle. The girl grew into a beautiful young woman, and the boy into a handsome young man. All their life they heard tales of the enchanted castle, and wondered what lay within.

"The day came when the young man grew restless, and set out into the world to seek his fortune. He came to a cottage where an old man lived, who was none other than the King's knight. The knight gave the young man a magic sword, and taught him how to use it. He told him, "You must go to the enchanted castle, and see what you find there."

"So the young man took the magic sword, mounted his horse, and rode to the castle. A high hedge of thorn bushes encircled the castle, blocking his way. He drew his magic sword, which burst into flame, and cut a path through the briars.

"He came to the castle gate and entered it. All was as it had been left many years before. The guards were asleep at their posts by the door, the cooks were asleep in the kitchen, the maids were asleep in the midst of their cleaning. A thick layer of dust coated everything.

"The young man searched the castle. At last he came to the chamber where the prince and princess lay sleeping in their bed. The hand of the princess lay on her breast, her burned finger unhealed, as raw and blistered as on the day it had touched the flame. Seeing this, the young man was moved to pity and compassion, and took up her hand, and kissed the open wound.

"At once the spell was broken, and the princess opened her eyes, and embraced her son. The prince and all the rest of the castle woke also, and there was a great celebration. The hedge of thorns withered away, and all was clean and bright again. The young man sent for his sister, and the old knight came and told everyone the truth of what had happened. All were reunited amid great rejoicing. And they all lived happily ever after."

The rhythm of Shmi's voice had almost lulled Anakin to sleep, but he roused and smiled blearily at her. "Great story, Mom," he mumbled. "Love you. G'night." He closed his eyes again and rolled over, burying his face in the pillow.

Shmi tucked the covers around his shoulders and watched him for a moment. Then she rose and left the room.

She moved about the tiny hovel, completing her evening chores. When the last of the cleaning and tidying was finished, her restlessness was still unsatisfied. She knew she should go to bed and fortify herself with sleep against the hard work of the next day, but she couldn't settle. She went to the door that led out to the street and opened it. She leaned against the doorpost and breathed the cool night air, gazing up at the stars.

She still forgot, sometimes, that Anakin wasn't actually Kern's child. In some ways he was very like her lost love. His face had a similar way of going from pensive to lit up grin in an instant's flash. He excelled in mechanics, as Kern had, though already his skills were far more advanced. His shock of blonde hair was so much like Kern's sometimes she caught her breath with the vividness of the reminder. But in other ways he was quite unlike either Kern or herself. His eyes were bright blue, not something he could have inherited from either of them. And his gifts – his skill with machines, his flying talents, his uncanny ability to see into hearts and minds – were so far outside the ordinary that Shmi could never truly doubt the supernatural nature of his origin.

She had been compelled to accept, as once again the unmistakable signs of pregnancy overtook her body, that the dream must have been a true vision. She had wondered and worried, as her belly grew large and she was sold to Rinadda the Hutt, what the child would be, and whether she would be able to fulfill her promise. But the child was born healthy and to all appearances normal, and her heart had gone out to him in the moment she first saw his red, wrinkled newborn face. Within days she was so deeply in love with him that the thought of having him taken from her terrified her. But then Pi-Lippa had come to Rinadda's compound, looking for a house servant, in his kindness willing to take both mother and child. They had thrived in his household. Shmi could believe that the Force was guarding and guiding them.

Even three years later, when Pi-Lippa had died unexpectedly, and all his belongings, including his slaves, had been auctioned to pay his debts, the Force had not deserted them. Gardulla the Hutt, who bought them, was patient enough to get what work she could from children, in anticipation of the greater value they would gain as they grew. And then she had lost them in a bet to Watto. He had originally wanted Shmi to keep house for him, but then had discovered Anakin's remarkable talents. Finally Shmi could be certain they would not be separated, for Watto needed her, and Anakin was far too valuable to him to ever be sold or gambled away.

She hugged herself against the increasing chill of the desert night. "You told me to teach him to love, Kern. I've done my best. Will it be enough?" Certainly Anakin was capable of love. In fact, he loved those few he granted his devotion with such pure intensity that it almost frightened her. Not that he was perfect, far from it, but among his flaws she had seen nothing that didn't seem typical for a small boy – a determination to get his own way that could dissolve into a tantrum if he was thwarted, the tendency to obsess on a subject to the exclusion of all else, enthusiasm that slipped all too easily into impatience. He had a temper, fierce rage that would blaze up, to burn out just as quickly. But there was nothing in his nature that reminded her of the sinister presences of the master and apprentice in her vision. Nothing to lead her to believe that he would ever be capable of becoming the avatar of destruction they had described.

Shmi went inside and carefully poured out the last of the day's water ration into a cup. She sipped it as she peeked in on Anakin. He was deep asleep. She smiled. He had enjoyed her story. He saw himself in it, she knew. He pictured himself as the young hero, riding to his mother's rescue, flaming sword in hand.

But that wasn't his role in the story, was it? A chill washed over her as she studied his sleeping form, as still as death save for the very slight rise and fall of his breath. She pictured him sleeping so, as night became day and days stretched to years, until all considered him irretrievably lost behind a wall as hard and black as the sharpest thorn…

She shuddered, and shook her head to dispel her foreboding. She closed the door of Anakin's bedroom gently, and went out to sit on the front doorstep.

"Watch over him, Kern," she whispered. "Don't let him sleep forever."

She sprinkled the last drops from her cup over the creeping weeds that grew among the rocks beside the door. The flowers nodded back at her, shining white and gold stars, visible even in the gathering shadows of night.


End file.
